


Firebird And The Grey Wolf

by roxymissrose



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-11
Updated: 2011-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place in Russia in the time of Rasputin. Clark and Lex are not nice people at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firebird And The Grey Wolf

Boris Mikhailov Voronkov watched his hounds circle around the wolf, enjoying the whirl of  
movement as they danced in and out, snapping and biting, driving the animal into a frenzy, and  
spattering the snow with drops of scarlet. The snow creaked and crunched under the hooves of  
his horse as it shied from the frenzied activity, and he lashed it, pulled the reigns hard. His  
bondman winced at his harsh treatment of the horse, but quickly schooled his expression. It  
wouldn't do to be caught showing even the slightest sign of disagreement with his Lord. He  
stroked the thin white scar on his chin in reflex. No, it wouldn't do at all.

Suddenly the wolf seemed to go insane and redoubled it's efforts to escape, it rushed the dogs,  
who boiled around it, ripping and tearing, but the animal burst through the pack, and flew away as  
the dogs began to attack each other, howling in some strange frenzy of fear. Boris rode into the  
middle of them lashing and cursing when his servant suddenly pointed up at the sky, shouting  
something. He turned to the man with lash upraised, but hesitated when he saw his face. The  
man was truly frightened, something in the sky...he looked up and saw a ball of fire and smoke  
headed towards them, and now he could hear the heavens screaming as if they were being  
ripped to shreds, black silhouettes wheeled away in the sky as birds fled whatever it was that tore  
the skies apart.

A loud explosion roared through the atmosphere, terrifying and deafening everyone. It seemed  
like the end of the world as horses screamed, men shouted and bolted from their positions, and  
the dogs dashed everywhere, fear of their master evaporating in the greater fear of what dropped  
out of the sky.

Following the explosion, Boris heard a strange pattering hissing sound, an odd and eerie sound  
he could make no connection for, until he looked down and saw gaping holes melting in the snow,  
large chunks of some burning material were dropping with force everywhere. He stood in the  
stirrups and shouted at his dogs and vassals to obey. He turned to shout at his bondman too, but  
the man let out a scream and clutched his chest. Boris watched with interest as he toppled over,  
his hands scrabbling over the smoking ruin that was his chest. The blood sprayed across the  
snow, steaming in the cold, streaking swathes of red across the parts of snow that hadn't been  
trampled down in the animal's wild rush to escape, and there a dog lay, skull crushed, and one  
here, and Boris stared defiantly at the heavens as though challenging God to strike at him. More  
flaming rock struck around him, a tiny piece pierced his hand and he clapped his other hand  
across the wound. Blood bubbled up from between his fingers, and he snarled his outrage at  
being struck. His horse suddenly crumbled to its knees, and a spray of warmth struck Boris in the  
face. His head rocked back at the sensation, his black hair whipping back and sticking where it  
touched his skin. He opened his eyes and looked down at the hole in his horse's forehead. Bone  
and brain fouled his coat and he cursed loud and long and as he struggled to get untangled from  
his dead mount.

The ground vibrated as a noise that shook his bones and squeezed his lungs tore the air apart.  
Boris fell to the ground and when he could move again and open his eyes, he saw a metal thing  
smoking and steaming at the end of a long furrow it had plowed into the earth. He rose to his feet,  
and a wind sprang up from nowhere and whipped his black coat around his lean form. He strode  
up to the thing in a manner that befitted a boyar--no hesitation, no outward sign of fear.

The thing was -open, the top of it sprung away, and a hollow revealed inside, a padded hollow  
with wires and tubes, and objects he could assign no name or function to snaking about the  
interior and of course, the thing inside it. Because it couldn't be a human. It came from the sky.  
Humans could not come out of the sky. Therefore it must come from the moon, or Mars, perhaps  
Venus. Boris wasted no time in denying the possibility. The thing fell out of the sky, was here and  
logic said no matter how human it looked, it was not.

What an interesting animal it was. And friendly, that was good, he noted as it held its arms out,  
like a human child might do. It looked so human, so like a child, that he would have been fooled if  
he hadn't seen it land with his own eyes. Other of his bondsman dashed forward, clamoring to  
take care of his wounds. He pulled the blood filled leather glove off his hand so his man could get  
to the wound, and called for the other's to strip the corpse of his servant of it's fur coat and wrap  
the thing up in it, take it back to the house. When the baby boy look alike was brought to him he  
looked in its eyes and said," I liked that horse, little creature. You owe me."

The baby woke up many nights after that, and many years after he had forgotten his origin,  
crying, his mind filled with pictures of a blood-smeared mask with wild and burning eyes in it,  
gleaming white teeth, and over all the smell of death.

* * *

  
 _Fourteen Years Later_

"Kirill, where are you? The master wants to see you!"

The housekeeper's voice rang out in the empty kitchen, and before he could slip out the back way  
to the servant's stairs, she found him, anger and an edge of fear in her eyes. "The master sent  
me to get you...you come right now. He wants you in the dining hall immediately." She stood with  
her hands planted on her hips and tried to look threatening, and maybe once he would have  
feared her. But not now, never again.

Kirill came close, towering over her, and crowding her back into the open doorway. "I don't care  
what he wants," he said, and enjoyed the spark of fear in her eyes. No one was going to push him  
around anymore, almost no one, not since his miraculous discoveries about himself these last  
few months. "And you, treat me with some respect. I am his ward. That makes you my servant, as  
much as his." He smiled into her face, watched the blood drain by degrees out of it, and stepped  
back so that she could move. They were so weak, these people. He knew he could snap her like  
a twig, explode her flesh into flames with just a glance. "So. Take me to 'Uncle' then. Isn't it early  
in the month for the bastard to want to see me?"

As long as Kirill could remember it had been so. Once a month The Uncle called for him to  
appear in his gloomy and too hot library, and once a month he demonstrated what his tutor's had  
pushed and beat into his brain, parroted it back. His life had been until very recently a long series  
of lessons and tests, academic and physical. Some of the tests had been very...painful. He'd  
cried sometimes when he was little. Sometimes he cried so long and so hard, that his nurse taken  
pity on him and tried to comfort him. She'd hold him sometimes and sing him soft songs, pretty  
songs.

He had so few memories of his childhood, a few random moments here and there --picking  
flowers to bring to his nurse, feeling sorry for having broken her arm accidentally. But his memory  
of the time Uncle visited the nursery was crystal clear. Once, only once, Uncle had appeared in  
the nursery, and caught him sitting with his head in the nurses lap, she stroking his hair as she  
told him stories of her own children, Piotyr and Anna. He still remembered the children's names  
but he couldn't for the life of him remember the nurse's name. She'd disappeared after that, he  
never saw her again, and not too long after her disappearance, he stopped singing the songs.  
They'd lost their power to comfort when Uncle had beaten him as the strains the songs his nurse  
had sung played in the background. He lost his taste for music after.  
Why was it like that for him? He had no idea... it was just life.

The last few months had been very different. He slept in his own room, a man's room. His  
lessons changed to being about the concerns of the ward of a wealthy landowner. He had a  
feeling these lessons were also about something else, something that would certainly benefit  
Uncle in someway. The man didn't exhale a breath without exacting some repayment from it. The  
lessons were certainly part of some scheme his Uncle was planning, though he couldn't imagine  
what part he'd be forced to play. He did know the man was conniving and dangerous and as  
vicious and hardy as a wolf. Too bad he had none of the nobility of that animal. What a steaming  
pile of shit the man was.

His lessons were boring and ridiculous to him. He'd had to learn court etiquette, courtly ways and  
words, and while they came easily to him, he disliked them intensely. A soldier didn't speak that  
way or have those concerns--a soldier was concerned with war, with conquering the enemy and  
making certain no opposition rose again.

He scowled at Uncle's lack of understanding though he didn't make the mistake of thinking him  
weak. Not ever again, not since the time he'd demonstrated his power over Kirill. The leather  
gloves with the green crystal studs, they'd undone him, reduced him to a jelly. When Uncle had  
slapped him, the glove tore his skin and made him bleed and he had truly made him bleed a  
river... the pain had been unbearable, so completely horrible he'd actually wept. He swore  
someday he'd make Uncle pay for that, for making him weep like an infant in front of his servant.  
That one went missing shortly after the incident. Uncle knew who was responsible, especially  
after it was discovered the man appeared to have died in a fire, and still he'd laughed at Kirill.  
One day, he thought as he approached the huge black wood doors to the hall, *that massive pile  
of horseshit was going to die laughing*.

Uncle sat at the head of the too ornate table, the dim light of the smoky fire casting flickering  
shadows and making his Uncle look even more like the devil than usual. He poured a glass of  
wine and gestured for Kirill to sit at the opposite end of the table. He stared at his Uncle with  
suspicion, and waited for him to speak.

"Kirill. You have done well with your studies and I'm pleased. All your lessons have gone well.  
Soon there will be other lessons. When you learn these to my satisfaction, there will be an  
explanation. Know this, you owe me. You owe me everything."

Kirill almost ceased to listen. He'd heard this tired tune too many times, he owed Uncle  
everything, his privileged position, his life--but wait, this was new...

"You will have the chance to reduce this debt to me. I'm nothing, if no generous." He smiled at  
Kirill over the rim of his glass, his teeth wet and shining, sharp as a wolf's. "This farm, I think it's  
time for you to learn it's ins and outs, it's management."

Kirill almost smiled, he pictured him self on horseback, the peasants shivering in fear as he  
towered over them, ready to mete out punishment as he came to inspect the holdings.

"You will work this land," He stood and spread a map out on the table and indicating an area with  
a bone-white finger, "These areas are to be cleared and prepared to be planted. I see no reason  
to waste manpower when I have you. You will remove the trees and harvest the wood. You will  
clear and plow these fields and prepare them. You will do this in three days time. I estimate that  
should be all you require."

His Uncle sat down again, and hooked a finger through the heavy chain he wore around his neck,  
the one on which a tiny sliver of the poisonous green stone was set. It was just enough to rob  
Kirill of his extraordinary powers and make him like a normal man. He knew damn well that the  
touching of the chain was a warning and a statement.

His Uncle waved him towards him. "Come, Kirill. Come here."

Kirill strutted up the length of the ridiculously long table and came to stand in front of his Uncle  
radiating as much defiance as he dared. His Uncle looked him over, a long silent stare that made  
Kirill feel uncomfortable, worse than usual even, he felt somewhat soiled by his Uncle's  
examination and as soon as the thought crossed his mind, his Uncle smiled and ordered him to  
kneel at his feet.

He laid his white, white hand, so thin and long his fingers were, they always put Kirill in mind of a  
skeleton's hand, on top of his head, and the bonelike fingers threaded through his hair, and Kirill  
began to feel ill as the stone started to effect him. He was ill and a little frightened of the attention.  
In all his years, Uncle Boris had never touched him except to strike him. He winced a little and  
ducked his head, waiting for the blow.

"Kirill," his Uncle spoke in a low voice. "What is my name?" He looked at his uncle in confusion,  
what didn't he know his own name, he was insane...his Uncle grabbed a handful of hair and  
yanked his head back so that they were eye to eye." What is my name?" he repeated.

Kirill gasped out his Uncle's full name quickly--he was afraid that he'd replace the sliver of stone  
with the gloves.

"Boris Mikhailov Voronkov! Ow, let go!" He reached up to grab at his Uncle's hand and stopped  
when he looked into Boris' eyes.

"You are not my blood, you know this. You are no one's blood here in this land. You know this. I  
own you, like I own my dogs, my vassals, and my horse. You've grown nicely, Kirill No-one. You  
can come sleep with me tonight."

Kirill began to protest that he had a bed, and looked into Uncle's eyes, into the eyes of Boris  
Voronkov and felt like he was falling away into a pit. Where did this come from? His Uncle had  
never ever shown any sign of this particular vice--what the devil had happened? He saw no pity;  
no love, no kindness in the man's eyes. He thought of the maids in the house, the stable boys  
and how funny he'd found it to make them do what he wanted. He looked at Voronkov and  
wished deeply that he could burn him, like he burned the rabbits in the fields. He imagined him  
steaming, and swelling, roasting in the flame he carried within him. God's flame maybe, the  
devil's more like. He looked down at his knees on the floor, ducked his head to smile and looked  
up again at Voronkov, and smiled wider. Part of battle strategy was retreat, and knowing when to  
do so. He could wait forever if he had to; he was a very patient fellow. He could do what this shit  
from hell wanted him to do, for now. One day, one fine day, Boris Mikhailov Voronkov's brains  
were going to paint the walls of this room, he swore it.

 _One Year Later_

Kirill leaned his back against the rough wall of the stable and rolled his shoulders forward, and  
watched his cock disappear in the warm mouth that worked to bring him off. He growled as the  
heat increased in his groin, he was about to come. He grunted and grabbed the head bobbing up  
and down on his cock and pumped his hips, came when the head of his cock pushed against the  
soft tissue at the back of the boy's throat. He grunted, closed his eyes briefly as the sensation of  
his cock jerking and spewing into the mouth on him rushed through his body and made his blood  
boil. He leaned back against the wall and groaned, and then pushed at the young man in front of  
him. " Go--you're done here."

The young man rose quickly as he could and tried to get away before his master could change  
his mind, and decide to punish him for making the master want him. Kirill watched the rabbit -like  
movements and smirked, a different sort of desire coiling through him now.

"Why do you run, Ivan? Don't you like to be near me?" he lifted himself away from the wall, as he  
buttoned his trousers.

Ivan's heart sank, his stomach turned. Kirill was in a playful mood. He prayed desperately that he  
was going to come away from whatever game he had in mind in one piece. Kirill stepped closer,  
his green eyes filling Ivan's world, and he couldn't move his eyes away. Time stopped and he  
was caught, snared in a web of fear, dreading what might come next. It could be great pain  
or...pleasure. As if from a great distance he heard a little hitch of breath, more a tiny sob and  
realized with horror the sound was his. Kirill laughed softly and stroked his cheek. The move  
broke the spell and Ivan's eyes closed and he waited for pain to bloom. And a soft voice broke  
the horrible silence-- Voronkov. Never did Ivan ever think in his wildest imaginings he'd be  
grateful to hear that voice.

"Kirill. Stop wasting my time playing and come here. I need you"

A tear slid down Ivan's cheek and he thought it might be from relief. Kirill leaned in and kissed it  
away. "Almost as good as blood," he whispered, and chuckled when Ivan shuddered.

His Uncle swore and demanded Kirill hurry, and swept ahead of him when he hurried after. He  
may not have been wearing the gloves, but Kirill wasn't a fool. He didn't want to take chances.  
When he came back to the dacha there were there were a strange coach and horses in the yard.

"Guests," Boris said, satisfaction making his voice oily, and Kirill unconsciously moved a bit away  
from him, and grimaced in distaste. Fortunately Boris' eyes were fixed on the fine horses and  
coach in the yard, and he spoke, more to him self than to Kirill. "Prince Felix and his company  
have finally arrived. My plans are now in motion, if all goes well, my pockets will be fatter, and my  
proper status restored." He turned to look at Kirill, and smiled. "Not that anything so simple as  
position or money moves me, that's fleeting at best. No, I have many other concerns as well,  
other desires, one could say." He ran his finger over Kirill's hand, and only tight discipline kept  
him from flinching, but his Uncle caught the slight tightening of the skin around his eyes, and  
laughed softly. "Come now, little one--haven't you learned to enjoy it just the littlest bit by now?"  
He chuckled at Kirill's deep blush, and his scowl.

"I have plans for you, my young creature. Great plans." He strode away from Kirill, his long black  
coat flapping about him like crows wings. He called back over his shoulder, " Come along Kirill, I  
need to speak to you in private."

* * *

The room was dark, Uncle liked it dark, and too hot, the fire put out so much heat, and so little  
light, how was such a thing possible? That evil bastard absorbed light, he would swear it. Boris  
was like a lake of blackness, sucking up anything good or light and turning it to shit. And the  
awful, awful heat....

Sweat ran down his ribs and dripped off his face, his hair was wet with it, he was sore, his whole  
body ached and his muscles twitched--his throat was raw from screaming. His wrists were held a  
little too high from the bedposts, his legs pulled back just a little too far, he couldn't ease his  
trembling muscles at all, and a burn had set in all along his limbs. Boris grunted and pushed into  
him, long slow slides that pulled at his arms and his back and made his gut clench, sweat ran into  
his eyes and the green crystals sewn onto the velvet cords seemed to glow bright as stars until  
he blinked the sweat back out, and his vision was normal again. Slide in, slide out, and Boris  
groaned and cursed him...cursed him for making him want to fuck the monster, for looking human  
enough to inspire lust, for bleeding so prettily, having such a tight hot ass--Kirill hated him so  
much, and he was so close to coming, he hated him so much...hated him as his cock jerked and  
spilled on the sheets, as Boris ground his wolf's teeth into the screaming flesh of his shoulder and  
came growling and scraping bleeding furrows down his ribs.

When Boris finally let his arms down, though carefully wrapped in the velvet cords that burned so  
much, Kirill smiled at him. Hate, hate you so much.  
Boris laughed, and jumped off the bed, wrapping himself in the fur-lined robe at the foot.

"So little monster--what did we learn today?" he sat in the bedroom chair and light a cigarette,  
watched Kirill watch the smoke. "Not speaking, my pet? Did I offend you in some way?"

Kirill writhed a bit in the ropes, tied in such a way that he was open and displayed to his Uncle.  
He learned something every time he was in this bed, every time he memorized the faces of the  
angels carved on the frame, or the pattern in the hangings stretched over the top of it. He learned  
that it mattered not at all what he looked like, he wasn't human, which meant he had no soul,  
which meant neither Heaven or Hell claimed him. A creature with no soul could do what it  
wanted--and the possibilities were endless--- he just needed to learn how to keep his dear Uncle  
alive long enough that he could feel every lesson he'd learned.

Boris looked at him inquisitively when Kirill chuckled--unusual for his pet to laugh afterward, he  
was usually sullen and ...exhausted. But he had energy enough to laugh? He smiled warmly at  
Kirill.

Kirill stared at him, thought, *How could anyone doubt the existence of God? Even a soulless  
creature like myself knows that He is, because if there's a Devil, there must be a God, and I know  
the Devil exists--I see him everyday*. He closed his eyes as Uncle opened the little lead chest  
that held his favorite toys, and as always prayed hopelessly for death.

Later than evening after being unfettered and allowed to stretch out he heard Boris call out to his  
servants. "Get him cleaned up. We have guests for dinner. I want him looking fit and clever."

Boris went out and left him alone with the servants.  
He heard whispering and little gasps. He'd smile if he could. How many times have the servants  
seen him like this? No wonder they all thought he was the devil-- torn to shreds at night, and the  
next morning moving about like nothing had ever happened to him.

Sometimes he stroked his own skin in wonder, searching the unmarked surface for some sign of  
the violence done to him.  
Sometime he felt as if he was going mad, and all this was a dream, a black endless nightmare  
and none of it was real. How grateful he was for the gasps of horror, the little flinches the servants  
made as they attended to him. He could look into their faces and know that he wasn't insane.

* * *

Kirill lay back in the copper tub, and reveled in the hot water cascading over him, washing away  
sweat, blood, and come-- without the ropes touching them, his skin began to heal almost  
immediately.

Thank god that Boris was occupied with his guests, he hated being watched by him as he healed.  
Sometimes it was worse than the lash, worse than his ridiculous toys--and the servants never  
knew whether to cross themselves in awe or spit to cast out the devil. He chuckled. Spit, little  
ones...just to be safe.

After he'd been rubbed down, and groomed and fussed over until he felt like one of Uncle's  
horses and dressed in the finest clothes his Uncle provided for him, he was led to the dining hall.

The hall was bright, filled with the glow of what seemed to be hundreds of candles. All the  
candles in the chandeliers were lit and the flames flung darts of light into the gloom of the high  
ceilinged room, there were candles in sconces, candles sitting atop iron holders as tall as he  
was--more candles than he'd ever in his entire life seen in this place. It made him shiver--it  
seemed wrong for this room to be lit so, as if there had ever been anything that happened here  
worth exposing to the light.

Even as Kirill wondered at the glow, one of the men at the table complained in a whisper that in  
St. Petersburg, they had electric light, and wasn't this primitive--but picturesque, one supposed,  
and then Kirill tuned out all sound below the threshold of normal hearing.

His Uncle sat at one end of the table and at the other end sat a very handsome man, dressed in a  
richly tailored uniform. His eyes captured Kirill even in the wavering candlelight. They held him  
like a pin held a butterfly.

"Prince Felix, allow me to introduce to you my nephew, Kirill --ah-Voronkov."  
Kirill smiled at his Uncle's discomfort, and bowed low before the Prince.

The Prince.

Yes. He looked like a prince, handsomer than any man he'd ever seen. He had a regal air, the  
look of a man used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it. Kirill craved that feeling.

His heart sped up a bit when the Prince invited him to sit next to him. Boris Mikhail Voronkov  
smiled into his wineglass, his eyes dancing in the light, burning into Kirill and warning him not to  
fail him.

Kirill was next introduced to The Grand -Duke, Dmitri , who stared back at him wordlessly,  
sullenly as the introductions were made. The Duke looked towards Felix with bitterness evident in  
his smile.

"Well, cousin, he said. "Who would expect the country to hold such beauty in all this muck and  
mire?" He turned towards Boris, " Of course I mean beauty in the sense of the masculine ideal."  
He inclined his head slightly, and Boris agreed with enthusiasm, of course, like the ancients, one  
admired perfection where one found it.

Kirill thought he would vomit.

Dinner dragged on and on, as the Prince exclaimed over this and that, "Why, the melon is  
exquisite," or "The wine! What an... interesting vintage." The Grand Duke sneered at Boris with  
every exclamation from the Prince and Kirill was murderously angry, especially when the unnamed  
men in the party snickered quietly amongst themselves.

He closed his eyes, fury making him skirt the edge of his control. He risked a look at his Uncle,  
sure that he'd see him in a towering fury, but to his surprise, Boris looked - pleased, as though he  
sincerely believed the 'compliments' the Prince and his men showered on him. He looked closer  
and saw what the men did not, that Boris was highly amused by their comments--that this whole  
faade of country -cousin was a ruse to lull these men to underestimate him.

Boris never gave a penny without wanting five back.

Kirill studied him, noted a flicker of triumph bloom in his eyes as the Prince uttered another  
scathing 'compliment' and a smile flowed over Boris' aquiline features, exposing his so very white  
teeth. In the dancing light of the dining hall, all he could see of Boris for a moment was the gleam  
of his teeth and by a trick of the flickering candlelight, green eyes glittering in the shadows. .

After dinner, Kirill had been sent to his room by his Uncle, and told to expect him later in the  
evening; he sat at his desk, and waited with dread for his Uncle. He must have been mistaken. At  
some point this evening, he'd angered his Uncle and now he was going to pay. Kirill lay his head  
down on his hands and wished he could fly away.

A sound at his door startled him, and he startled again when the door opened. And he felt a tingle  
of relief. It wasn't his Uncle; it was the Grand Duke, Dmitri.

"Come with me," he growled. " Your presence is... requested." He swung on his heel and headed  
to the guest rooms without looking back. It was obvious to Kirill that the man was in an  
explosively bad mood, probably angry that his Prince had sent him on an errand -boys task.

Dmitri opened the door to the guestroom that Kirill knew was the finest. He'd spent a week in hell  
there once, and the tapestries were beautiful, he'd counted every fucking lily embroidered in  
every one of them. Dmitri stepped to the side so Kirill could enter. He was nearly certain the man  
growled when he passed him to enter the room. Dmitri closed the door quietly and leaned back  
against it, letting Kirill enter alone.

His first impression was candlelight. It painted the center of the room with a golden glow, but the  
corners were nearly dark and he got the impression that there were people hidden in those  
corners watching him, a feeling confirmed when quiet whispers floated from the darkness. The air  
smelt of roses, and scented oil burned in lamps placed about the room. He heard the rustling of  
fabric, and the subtle creak of leather. And he looked straight ahead when he heard a small soft  
sigh.

Standing ahead of him was a woman, a beautiful woman, with fine features and big blue eyes, so  
blue that for a moment it was all he could see, eyes made even more intense by the smudges of  
kohl outlining them. Her skin looked like ivory in the golden light, and she took his breath away.

She stood with her arms slightly outstretched and her hands braced, one atop a vanity table and  
the other clutching the matching chair. Her lips glistened when she spoke, her tone was low and  
seductive and Kirill licked his own lips, they had suddenly gone so dry, and It was hard to  
swallow.

"So, Kirill, will you come away with us tomorrow?"

Her voice was breathy and her eyes followed the path of Kirill's tongue across his lips. She  
grabbed her lower lip in her teeth briefly and breathed out a long low sigh. He noticed that she  
swayed back and forth a bit, and again he heard a low growl. He looked behind him at Dmitri,  
who was staring at the woman. The Duke looked angry, furious, but his breath was shallow and  
rapid, and Kirill glanced quickly downward before he could stop himself, and saw Dmitri was hard.

The woman gasped, bent forward slightly and groaned. Kirill noted that her heavy skirts were  
bunched, someone was behind her -

The Duke groaned when she did, Kirill felt the warm exhalation on his neck and flinched--what  
the hell was going on? Who was the woman, was it Dmitri's wife?

"Now," she groaned, passion making her voice deeper and ragged--a man rose up from behind  
her, wiping his wet mouth on the back of his hand. Kirill drew in a sharp breath when the man  
yanked open his pants, heedless of buttons breaking free, heedless of the onlookers. He pushed  
her head forward with a sharp gesture, one that drew a hiss from the Duke and tiny sounds from  
the dark around them-- and threw her skirts up. He shoved forward and she made a noise  
between a scream and a sigh. The man began fucking her, swift hard, no grace at all, just  
plunging in and out of her, while she gasped and quivered.  
Kirill was so hard, he was afraid one brush against his cock would make him come on the spot.  
He felt Dmitri's hot breath on his neck and shivered, but besides pressing close and breathing in  
his ear, Dmitri kept his hands to himself. Kirill almost laughed, judging from the sounds he was  
keeping his hands busily to himself.

He was dizzy from lust, the sight and smells, the sounds were making him feverishly hot and he  
thought he'd explode when the woman let out a hoarse scream, and began to beg the man for  
release. Kirill was shocked. None of the women he'd fucked had ever been so vocal in their  
desires, so loud in their pleasure.

The man reached up under the front of her skirt and did something that made her tremble and  
scream--Kirill could tell the man was close too, and at the crucial moment he found himself  
staring into eyes the color of a winter sky. He came, staring into Kirill's eyes as he did, and Kirill  
froze, pierced by that gaze. He drank in the sight, wanted to kiss the mouth twisted into a snarl  
with the force of his release.

The man stepped back and buttoned his coat, and the woman leaned forward, supported on her  
hands again and trembling. Kirill saw the colonel's insignia on the man's coat as he stepped  
around the woman without a backward glance. He stopped in front of Kirill, looked him up and  
down, then slowly pushed an elegant finger between his lips, added another as Kirill watched him  
with an ache in his groin that turned into a flash of lightning that swept his body when the man -  
the Colonel--sucked on his fingers like he was sucking a cock.  
He laughed at Kirill's moan, and pressed his palm briefly against Kirill's mouth. He jerked his  
head back when thick warm fluid smeared on his lip and his tongue swiped it up in reflex.

The Colonel laughed as he left the room. He turned at the door, and grinned at Kirill again. "So,  
how does it taste, hmm--- the spunk of royalty? Different than stable boys? "

He laughed softly and called out., "A pleasure fucking you, Felix. I adored your clever little wig.  
Sorry about the skirt." He slammed the door behind him.

And before he could even make sense of what happened the woman--the Prince-- was on his  
knees before him, begging him to open his trousers. Even without the wig he was beautiful, the  
thought of his cock in that mouth made him flex. God yes, he thought and unbuttoned as quickly  
as he could.  
When he came, wild gray eyes filled his mind, burnt him to a screaming ash and promised him  
...everything.

Morning, and Kirill spent part of it in his room gathering whatever items his Uncle was willing to let  
him take along with him. It had been a ...strange morning.

He'd had a most interesting breakfast, sitting in conversation with Boris and Prince Felix, and his  
ghost, Dmitri, a conversation conducted in whispers, as though there were some possible way for  
anyone to hear them, a conversation fully as insane as Kirill sometimes felt.

Prince Felix planned to assassinate Rasputin, spiritual advisor to the Tsarina, Aleksandra.

Kirill had been forced to bite his lip to keep from laughing at their audacity, their idiocy. How could  
they possibly hope to succeed? The plot was ludicrous, the plotters ridiculous. They must be  
mad, or perhaps simply incredibly stupid....

But Uncle threw in with them and it was impossible to imagine Boris Voronkov involved in a  
doomed plot, unless there was some other way he'd profit. There was always a way for Boris to  
profit, or nearly always. He had to have lost once, or he wouldn't be living in his dacha so far  
away from court, and civilized society.

That was another tune Kirill heard endlessly, though what he'd done to earn this exile he  
thankfully never shared with him.

He had watched Uncle carefully and thought deeply about his own involvement in this brilliant  
plan, this farce he'd been pressed into participating in.

Kirill believed he might have a few ways this scheme could profit him. How grateful would the  
Tsarina be to be warned of a plot against her monk? Grateful enough that the informer might be  
granted land, a name? A way to get revenge on a devil?

Kirill pictured himself getting on his horse and riding away, just leaving--- Boris couldn't stop him.  
Ah, but Boris would never pay then for what he'd done to him for all these years. And he lived for  
the time when Uncle would pay--he planned to make him scream so loud that God would hear  
the voice of Boris Voronkov and finally take notice of the monster he let loose an the land, a  
creature more a monster than he, because God granted Boris a soul and the possibility of  
salvation, and he spit on the gift.

He stopped and took a deep shaky breath and struggled to gain control.

Kirill strode across the yard, noticing idly that the servants scattered before him. That always  
cheered him somewhat. At least _they_ were afraid of him.

He came to an abrupt stop as he reached the stables. Framed in the doorway of the stables was  
the officer from the night before. He stared, not sure what to do, reluctant to come closer for some  
reason.

The colonel came out of the doorway and leaned against the wall, making a great show of not  
blocking the entrance. He looked Kirill up and down, an arrogant smirk on his lips, and then  
dropped his eyes to the apple he held in his hand. He was peeling the fruit in a long thin  
continuous strip, so thin a strip it was almost translucent in the bright morning sun. Light flared off  
the edge of the blade and dazzled Kirill's eyes. He blinked, and found he was standing closer to  
the officer, without being aware he had moved. He shivered, but the man took no notice of him.  
He seemed to be totally engrossed in his task. Not looking at Kirill, he spoke.

"The trick to this is a very, very sharp knife, and a slow and steady hand. Then you can peel it all  
in one...long...strip." He stopped peeling and cut a sliver of flesh from the apple and licked it  
carefully from the blade.  
"Would you care for a slice?" He prodded the fruit with the tip of the knife. He tilted his head  
slightly and grinned at Kirill's red and scowling face.

"I just thought you might care for some. Don't you like apples? Or would you prefer something  
else?"

Angered for no reason he could define, Kirill grabbed a brush from the table in the corner, and  
walked over to the stall his horse was in, wishing the man were standing in his way.

"So. We do that ourselves in the country, do we? One more reason why no in their right mind  
would wish to live here."

Kirill whirled around. The man had managed to sneak up on him. It had been too many years  
since he'd allowed that to happen.

The colonel rested a hip against the wall of the stall opposite his, smiled at him in a most irritating  
manner and continued peeling his apple. Kirill stood unmoving, his head down. It was pounding in  
an unpleasant way, and fury made him grit his teeth. This man thought he was an idiot, a toy to  
play with--

The officer moved away from the wall and circled him, his long gray wool coat whispering against  
the wood and turned until his back was to the light coming through the stable door.

He was bald and not clean-shaven, there was no shadow, no stubble--yet his face was unlined,  
he was young, Kirill thought, maybe not very much older than he was. His boots creaked with  
each step he took, they were brand new, and shiny as though more for show than for the purpose  
they were intended for. So, a soldiers uniform, but not a soldier. A courtier than, a bootlicker. He  
pointedly turned his back on the Colonel and snorted.

A fancy whore, no more.

Suddenly there was warmth and pressure the length of his back and the scent of the man filled  
his nose--wool, and roses, and leather, lavender and something sweet and metallic under it all, a  
scent he caught when the officer breathed, and his arm lifted and curled across Kirill's chest like a  
lover's embrace.

The blade of the knife slid gently down his cheek and warm breath ghosted over his ear.

"Your Uncle wouldn't care to hear that you were rude to Felix's friends, my pet."

Kirill froze inside. The words echoed horribly in his ear.

The knife withdrew, and the mouth against his ear was gone.

"You'll want to play, little one. I know it. I sense we'll have great fun together, you and I "

Kirill growled at him, and tried to push past him into yard, when the Colonel grasped his wrist to  
hold him there.

"Alexei. That is who I am. Say the name, little apple."

Kirill snatched his arm out of his grip and the Colonel--Alexei strolled away. He heard laughter  
trailing back to him, and he desperately wished that the shit would offend his Uncle so that he  
could reduce him to a smoking pile of ash, or rip his limbs from his body and fling them high as  
the pines, or....

The brush creaked and splintered in his hand as his grip tightened. Despicable bastard whore.  
There's another one whose blood he planned to be up to the elbows in when this stupid game  
played out.

The thought calmed him a bit, and he tossed the pieces of the brush to the ground. As he turned  
back to the stable, a sound caught his notice. It came from the stall the arrogant bastard had  
been lolling all over. The sound came again, and he opened the door, and his eyes widened.

"Ivan."

Ivan lay inside, facedown in the straw, dressed still in his pants and his boots but his shirt cut to  
ribbons and a piece folded and shoved into his mouth, strips of the rest binding his hands behind  
him. He was crisscrossed with thin shallow cuts from his shoulders to his ribs, and thin trails of  
blood striped him and trailed sluggishly down his sides to drip into the straw. His eyes widened  
when he saw Kirill, and jerked closed when he smiled.

The little whimpering noises made Kirill laugh, a clear ringing bell of amusement that echoed to  
the rafters.

"Ivan, Ivan...you've been unfaithful to me, Ivan. That makes me sad."

He stepped in and closed the stall door behind him.

He sauntered back towards the house, feeling almost...free. He licked his lips and smiled, looking  
out over the yard to see if there was anyone to share his good mood with. He was almost  
tempted to take on the Colonel; in fact he would if he didn't suspect that his Uncle and Alexei had  
already formed some kind of alliance. He decided it was in his best interest not to get between  
the two of them for now, may they rot in hell together.

Deciding he was hungry, and eager to avoid Boris for as long as possible, he slipped into the  
kitchen.

It was hot and loud, the steamy air vibrating with the sound of clanging pots, crockery hitting the  
table, the cooks chopping and shouting orders at the scullery maids, and apprentices. An open  
fireplace on one wall added smoke to the hazy air, the smell of roasting meat filled the nose and  
warred with the scent of baking bread and cakes and there were covered bowls of dough on the  
rise by the wood burning stove, and fresh loaves waiting to be cut lay on the long wooden prep  
table on the wall opposite. Young boys and girls handled the minor chores of cleanup and stirring  
the pots, and bobbed and weaved around one another in a well-practiced dance, arguing with  
each other and stealing bits of food from the prep table, and Kirill looked at all this activity and  
smiled.

One day all of this would be his.

All of these people would belong to him, all of this land, this country. He grabbed a chunk of  
bread and a couple of apples. He took a huge bite from one of the apples and chewed, the juice  
running down his chin.

This world.

A girl passed, brushing against him, her arms full of vegetables for the night's meal. It was quite  
impressive all this labor, normally the kitchen was much quieter but when nobility visited, a potato  
soup and black bread would hardly do.

He turned to watch her, idly thinking she looked familiar, and when she turned to him and  
smirked, he remembered, she was in Uncle's room from time to time. Nothing special about her,  
there were a few who took his place when Uncle decided had no need of Kirill, but then again,  
she was there more frequently than others.

She came back towards him with an empty basket and brushed casually against him again. His  
hand shot out and gripped her arm. She winced slightly and then smiled up at him. Her eyes  
glittered and her teeth were small and pointed. To Kirill she had the look of a fox and her ginger  
hair accented the resemblance. He pulled slightly and she came towards him with no resistance.

He backed away and she followed, not glancing once at the head cook who's glare Kirill thought  
almost rivaled his fire gift.

He pulled her along without a word into the room that was his, cold and bare as a monk's cell.

All his private belongings were packed; there was nothing here that spoke of him any longer. It  
was totally anonymous, and that made it perfect.

He pushed the girl onto the bed, and she sprawled there, letting him look her up and down, and  
then he kneeled on the bed, and pushed her skirts up to her waist, and curled his hand around  
her hip. She pushed into his hold and sighed, closed her eyes, and looked content. He traced his  
fingers over the soft skin of her hip, dipped into the curve and followed it to the triangle of ginger  
hair. He trailed a finger into the curls and pushed into heat.

So different, so hot and wet. He moved his finger in and out, and a rosy flush spread across her  
neck and face. Her breath came faster and he added another finger, and pushed slower, but  
deeper, and she gasped. He felt himself stirring, his cock hardening as she began to moan a bit.  
He spread her legs wide and watched his finger s move in and out, stroked his thumb lightly  
across her clit, and smiled when she groaned and thrust her hips up. She clamped her muscles  
around his fingers, and the heat in his groin spread out through his body. He was fully hard, and  
moved so he could unbutton his breeches. The movement brought his face close to her, and he  
dipped his head lower and let his tongue slip across her clit. She gasped aloud, and moaned.  
Reaching for his head, she wrapped her hands in his thick hair and pulled him closer still. He  
licked again while he unbuttoned and shoved his breeches down his thighs, his cock springing  
free and bobbing with his movements. Her legs cradled his face as he twisted his tongue over her  
again and again, and his fingers repeated the rhythm, plunging in and out of her, and he chuckled  
deep in his chest when she began to whine, and begged him to fuck her.

He slid his fingers out and pressed his thumb into her and sucked at her clit, and she burst into  
babbling, howled when he slid a wet finger into her ass and pumped as he sucked and tongued at  
her. She erupted into frantic movement, her hips leaping off the bed, until he had to hold her  
down with one hand, and she screamed, calling out his name, the name of the saints and the  
blessed Mother.

He moved back and up onto his arms and slid into her in one thrust. She arched her back and  
keened as he pushed in; when he rocked back she reached down and touched him, slid her hand  
around him and let him push into her hand and her body. His legs trembled and he felt as though  
lightning shot through him when he thought of Boris fucking her, and how angry he'd be when he  
found out.

She was so wet and hot, and tight, and it felt good, he groaned and pushed in and out, popping  
the head of his cock all the way out and then plunging in deep, it was good, and she was gasping  
and whining and her hands were fluttering weakly along his spine and the noise she made kept  
going higher, and then he couldn't stop hearing it, it filled his head, and drew sharp nails across  
his brain --she wouldn't shut up, and his cock began to flag, he pushed harder, ground tight  
against her and still it softened. He dropped his head and growled and she made a noise of  
disappointment.

"Ah well," she gasped, "It's like that sometimes with your Uncle too. He usually just flips me over,"  
she grinned. "And puts his thing where your thumb was," and winked at him.

He felt his passion vanish at that image. He could only see himself hanging in chains, Boris  
laughing at him and doing things that made him make him cry out in pain, smiling, smiling that  
wolf's smile of his.

He looked down into the smug foxy face of the girl, who lay back as if she had a right to relax so  
in his bed. Her arms were stretched over her head and resting on his pillows and her skirts had  
slid up almost to her throat now, and her hair was spread across her shoulders, draped over the  
pillow, and he thought she needed to be off his bed now.

She stretched and threw her legs around his back, and he moved to throw her off when she  
spoke again.

"That officer, the bald one-- now he was a real bull, that one. Not like Boris. And you know, he  
has no hair anywhere," she giggled and tightened her muscles around his cock, trying to get  
some sign of interest from it.

She prattled on but Kirill was no longer listening.

Alexei, the bastard. He had the nerve to fuck her. How dare he!

Kirill was furious, forgetting that Boris was the only one who had somewhat of a right to be  
jealous. He had an overpowering image of Alexei plowing into her and he hissed, his cock  
surging back to fullness.

Her eyes glowed bright.

"Oh! So, it' s like that is it?" She rocked on him, his erection renewed and twitching with every  
push on him, and she began to describe what they had done, how big he was, how hard, how  
he'd made her come so many times, and Kirill was panting--his mind raced, his thoughts were  
chaotic-- he'd fuck him, fuck him until he screamed, humiliate and conquer him. Make him crawl  
to him and beg him for his cock--

His lips drew back in a feral grimace as he fucked her furiously, imagining smooth hard muscular  
legs desperately holding onto him. Looking down into her thin face, he saw gray eyes and a  
sardonic leer, Alexei mocking him. He'd make him scream with ecstasy before his death-- Her  
mouth drawn into an 'O' of surprise, her eyes were wide and they rolled back as she orgasmed,  
all of her enclosing him in tight heat, his cock leapt and jerked and she cried out when he came,  
spilling inside her.

In his minds eye, he saw Alexei shouting out his orgasm.

He opened his eyes again, and she grinned at him, an unpleasantly knowing smirk. She had the  
air of being entirely too satisfied with herself.

"I hate you? Do you always scream that when you come? Who are you talking to, hmm? And  
you're crying." She laughed, "You're so sensitive, like a blushing virgin."

He snarled down at her.

"You think you don't have to be afraid now? You think you know something, have some control  
over me? No--you don't, you have no idea what you're dealing with--" and punched a finger into  
her chest, cracking bone and cartilage. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and he tore his  
finger upward, ripping through broken bone and muscle, plunged his hand into her chest, and  
squeezed.  
He could feel her heart pump frantically like a rabbit's in the cage of his fingers and then the  
tissue fragmented, shredded into bits as his fingers met through the mass, and Kirill shook and  
groaned and came again as her blood fountained up into his face and coated his arm. "Just like  
this" he panted, " Blood up to the elbows, your blood everywhere." He wiped his hand across his  
eyes, leaving a pink streak through the red.

"I'm going to bathe in your blood," he whispered as he withdrew from her cooling flesh.

"I'm going to have you and break you and spill all of you across this land." Alexei or Russia, it  
made no difference.

The first step of their journey took them across the river by ferry, and Kirill discovered that you  
can be immune to illness, most pain and impervious to blades or firearms, and still spend a great  
deal of time hanging over the railing of a boat and throwing the contents of your gut into the  
water. He was certain every meal that had ever passed his lips now churned behind them in the  
wake of the ferry.

Kirill hung over the rail and thought about his latest torment. Alexei. His very breath set his teeth  
on edge. Alexei seemed to delight in smoking his foul cigars nearby, twisting his stomach even  
more. Alexei grated on his nerves beyond belief.

He was too cheerful, too full of good fellowship, thrilled beyond measure to be leaving the  
countryside, Kirill supposed. He found it nearly impossible to believe there could be another  
human being more hateful then Boris Mikhailov Voronkov but there he was, smoke trailing behind  
him in a noxious wake, ignoring Kirill's existence and in general behaving as if he were the only  
living thing on the boat. Kirill's eyes narrowed as he watched Alexei walk towards the front of the  
ferry. Bastard.

At least he had the memory of taking leave of Boris Voronkov to cheer him up.

Uncle had put on quite the show for Prince Felix and his men, throwing himself on Kirill's shoulder  
and swearing to all the saint's how his heart would break without him, how difficult his life would  
be without the soothing presence of his beloved nephew and of that at least Kirill was certain, all  
the chores he performed for him would now have to be done by many men, many men who would  
wish to be paid for their labors. Money was not something that easily left his Uncle's hand; he'd  
rather part with his heart's blood than needlessly spend a cent. Kirill wondered again how grateful  
the Prince was for Boris' help. He could only imagine Felix planned to be extremely grateful.

When the party mounted horses or entered the coach with the Prince, Boris had turned to him  
and said with his sharp toothed smile," I sent a gift for you along with Prince Felix. You're to have  
it when you get to the palace at St.Petersburg. A little reminder of home, to keep you safe and  
warm in the cold uncaring heart of the city." He pressed Kirill's hand and patted his shoulder, in a  
show of paternal love that made his lip curl.

"I left you a little gift too," he'd replied. "It's in your room...on your bed." It pleased him to  
remember how pale Boris had gone at his smile. He'd nodded and spun on his heel, and  
marched back to the house without another word or look of farewell, his black coat flapping in the  
breeze and making him look momentarily like a huge black crow.

The sight had made him chuckle, and then he'd noticed Alexei watching him, and he assumed  
he'd been observing the entire time. The officer's eyes crinkled in amusement before he'd turned  
his horse and ridden ahead of the carriage. Still his head turned Kirill's way every so often,  
watching him.

And he continued to do so. Every waking moment he felt his eyes on him. It was maddening, this  
constant scrutiny. He felt like a specimen in a killing jar, waiting for the pin to skewer him.

He pulled back from the rail, and mercifully his gut actually seemed to settle. He wiped his mouth  
and sighed. He needed water...he pushed the thought about in his mind, testing his body's  
response to the idea of something entering his stomach. When he got no further complaint, he  
moved along the rail, until he met up with the rest of the party again.

He saw the Prince, the Archduke and Alexei before they saw him.  
Felix leaned against the rail and smiled at the men in front of him.  
Dmitri smirked and spun a ring on his finger, eyes only for Felix. Alexei smiled absently, but he  
was alert to all movement around them, his eyes flicking from left to right, spotting Kirill and  
dismissing him before moving on.

Felix leaned back against the railing a bit more, and the wind whipped his hair about and brushed  
his cheeks red. His high collared coat flapped around him and he leaned back yet again, the wind  
pulling at his collar now. Dmitri frowned slightly and took a single step forward and Felix laughed  
and looked toward Alexei who smiled and drew on his cigar, letting a long plume of smoke curl  
out of his mouth.

Kirill watched and took note of the men's behavior and reactions. It was instructive, to say the  
least. Felix played with Dmitri as one dangled string for a cat, Dmitri looked ready to pounce,  
nervous and high strung--completely at odds with the sullen fellow he seemed at his Uncle's  
dacha.

Felix pushed backwards--farther and farther until his body was a bow against the rail and only  
the small of his back and the toes of his boots were in contact with the ship, his arms were spread  
wide and he smiled at the heavens like a saint in ecstasy--and laughing, pushed back again.

Dmitri cursed and leaped forward, buried his fist in the heavy wool fabric of Felix's coat and  
yanked him down to his feet.

"You bastard," he hissed and Felix covered his shaking hand with his own, gripping until his  
knuckles turned white, smiling into Dmitri's furious eyes, without a word. Alexei laughed aloud,  
and taking a final draw off his cigar, flung it out into the river.

Kirill watched this strange performance, this show that had the air of being repeated often, and  
was fascinated. Unexpectedly a ripping pain flashed through his eyes, and he gasped aloud and  
squeezed his eyes closed at the sudden pain.

When he opened them again, he felt a wave of dizziness, and he saw--Dmitri, clothes dissolved  
away, nude, hard...and flesh dissolved and he saw muscle, which dissolved away--he saw  
bones, and through Dmitri's bones the bones of the ship, and then--

Everything was normal once more, and Alexei was looking at him.  
"Don't worry little pet, it's a silly game they play, but Dmitri always wins," he chuckled.

Dmitri smiled and pulled Felix's hand inside his coat, and rubbed it against him. Kirill watched and  
felt himself rise, knowing what Dmitri was doing.

Alexei clamped a hand on his shoulder, startling him. "Later, I wish to speak to you." Seeing  
Kirill's eyes darken, he added, "Your...Uncle left something for you, with me."

Kirill nodded and walked away. The laughter he heard behind him was something he knew he'd  
have to endure for now--he was certain he would hear it often.

They reached the train station with a minimum of problems, and one of the officers from Felix's  
party assured him that the journey was going exceptionally well.

Kirill struggled not to appear nervous as they boarded the train, but this entire trip was  
...unsettling. He'd never been aboard a train, a boat--Uncle really had kept him caged on the  
farm. He felt uneducated, simple, like a lowly serf. It made him embarrassed, and that made him  
angry and his face settled into the habitual scowl he wore. It served its purpose, no one made fun  
of him to his face, and no one sought his company out.

Nearly no one, he should say. Alexei watched him try to handle this new experience, and as  
always when he looked at Kirill, a smirk bowed his lips. He remembered Alexei wanted to speak  
to him, claiming Boris left a gift for him. A gift.

He knew what the gift was. He also knew if the officer chose-- _when_ he chose to use that gift,  
he would have no option, no recourse but to bend to him.

He looked out the window at the rapidly moving landscape. He could run but to where...and to  
what? He wasn't ready yet. He knew he wasn't prepared to conquer this land. If he wanted more  
than a bloody graveyard to rule then he needed experience, wisdom...he looked at Alexei again,  
who smiled at him through a gray haze of smoke, and rolled his tongue across his lip. He locked  
eyes with Kirill as he raised his hand to remove some insignificant fleck of something from his  
mouth. Kirill was furious that he couldn't tear his eyes away from the movement of his tongue. It  
infuriated him, this weakness in himself. He couldn't control his curiosity and fascination for this  
man. He sensed a kindred spirit in him, there was some kind of connection that existed between  
the two of them, but he was afraid.

He was certain that Alexei was capable of destroying him if he chose to, and not so assured that  
he could do the same to Alexei if the need arose. To even have uncertainty about being able to  
do so unsettled him in the extreme. After all, what was life but a spark that could be snuffed out in  
a minute, and one spark was no more important then another. Why hesitate because it came  
packaged in attractive wrapping?

The movement of the car was hypnotic. His troubling thoughts eased and slowed as the rhythm of  
the car, the steady swaying and the click, click of the wheels on the track filled his mind. The land  
flowed past the window like magic, the sameness of the landscape was soothing and Kirill leaned  
his head against the window. He let the rocking motion lull him into a dreamy state; he no longer  
saw the landscape, just a blur of white and gray and black and slowly his eyelids dropped, lower  
and lower until they drifted completely closed.  
The smell of cigar smoke got stronger and he wasn't positive but he thought that there was  
warmth at his side...

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the room at the dacha, again the glow of  
candles dazzling him and the smell of roses filling his nose. This time he was behind the  
woman--the prince... and it was his hands on the lean hips, his hands pushing up the skirts.  
He was on his knees and his tongue was tracing spirals on the smooth tender skin in front of him.  
He pressed his hands against the buttocks, spreading them and presenting the tight bud of  
muscle there. His tongue teased down the cleft, licked up the exposed skin and swirled around to  
tap softly at the clenched bud.

Gasps broke in the air above him and the heat and scent of rose and lavender, leather, wet silk  
and earth combined to make his head swim and his cock swell. He wanted Felix to make more  
noise, he wanted to make him cry out, and he pressed harder with his tongue, trying to nudge it  
inside, and the hips gripped tight in his hands tried to pump back against him. He buried his face  
between the smooth swells of flesh and his tongue slid in and out and caressed the muscle that  
opened before his assault.

Felix cried out with each thrust in, cried out and trembled as Kirill licked around and into the  
quivering hole and his cock twitched and drooled precome against his belly, trapped there by the  
fabric of his trousers. A low hoarse voice called out "enough, fuck him now!" and he rose to his  
feet, released himself from the prison of his trousers. He bent the sinuous form forward and  
pushed his cock into the tight slick heat in one stroke, it made him hiss and Felix groaned out,  
"Ah! You're killing me!" and his cock jumped hard, a bolt shot through his body, raced down his  
nerves and crashed into his spine. There was fire in his belly, he pumped harder and harder, his  
cock pushing into a well of fire, fire erasing all thought and leaving nothing but this, nothing but  
fire burning him alive--

Alexei laughed, "Is that the best you can do?"

Bastard. He'd show him. He reached around and grasped the lashing cock of his partner and  
made a tunnel of his fist, let the man push into it. His hand was wet with precome in moments,  
smoothing the slide of hot flesh and every push tightened the muscles around him until he felt he  
would tear apart into a million pieces. He gripped the hips that shuddered and shook in his hands.  
Alexei, yes, he wanted him to scream, needed him to scream his name. He thrust harder and  
held the twisting hips harder until he was sure he felt bone creak under his grasping fingers.  
Alexei turned his head to him and the light made his eyes gleam like a wolf's reflecting fire.

"You have me, my pet," his voice rasped out " Fuck me, little one. Make me come, Kirill." And at  
his smile, Kirill came, and it burned him like fire, his thighs jumped and burned--

He was awake, and aware of come cooling against his skin. He groaned in disbelief, then flamed  
red as he remembered his dream. He glanced quickly to the side, it had been so realistic he  
expected to see Alexei sitting next to him, but he was completely alone in the car. He thanked  
Boris' god and stood to hurry to the sleeping car, and as he did so, a drift of ash dropped  
unnoticed to the floor.

Evening came, and a knock on his car door brought him upright on the couch where he'd dozed  
off again.

"You are wanted in the dining car, sir," spoke a young man in staff uniform.

Kirill rose quickly, pulled himself together. He was surprised the summons, the request, was for  
the dining car. He expected it to be for Alexei's car.

When he entered the dining car, it seemed the entire company was there, and he was confused  
for the moment.

He eased his way in and looked warily about. What he'd thought was the entire group was  
actually just the Prince, the Archduke, Alexei and a few other officers and everyone looked quite  
theatrically serious. Was this some further game of his Uncle's, reaching across the miles to  
crush him? Kirill prepared himself for whatever was to come next.

"Sit," the Prince said not unkindly and gestured at a chair near him.  
Kirill sat on the red velvet upholstered chair. His eyes traveled over the dining car. It was even  
more magnificent than Boris' dining room, far more. The walls were covered with mahogany  
paneling, burgundy velvet curtains were pulled back from the windows and sheer white panels  
covered the glass, softening what light remained. Brass sconces glowed on the wall between  
each set of windows and miniature crystal bedecked chandeliers hugged the bowed ceilings. The  
chairs the men sat in where as elaborately carved as the ones that graced the long table in  
Uncle's dining room, and the tables were covered with linens as icy white as snow and it all  
smelled of newness, raw wood and varnish, and the dye of the fabrics.

The men were sprawled in the chairs, comfortable as if they were in their own apartments and all  
of them elegantly dressed in eveningwear instead of the usual uniforms, save Alexei. He wore a  
dress tunic and boots that covered his calves, and shone in the glow of gaslights.

Kirill had expected electric lights and childishly felt disappointed until he saw, really saw, Alexei.

The golden light made Alexei look like some ancient god carved from ivory, made his eyes look  
dark and exotic, made his lips red and wet, needing to be filled with offering: blood, wine;  
whatever the god demanded of him...

Kirill came back to himself with a jerk--he realized his hand was stroking over and over the plush  
velvet cushion under him. He'd allowed himself to be completely mesmerized by the officer. Kirill  
felt a tiny worm of fear sliding up his spine.

This man had too much power over him.

His attention returned to the Prince when he waved his hand in his direction.

"We asked your uncle for his help and he so generously allowed you to accompany us." He  
stopped to sip from the crystal flute in front of him, his eyes sparkling at him over the rim. "He  
says that you have... strengths that will suit our endeavor well. To that end, he granted Alexei  
guardianship. You're not used to the pace of life out of the country. Alexei will keep you best  
interests in mind. He'll take care of you like your Uncle would have were he here."

Kirill kept his face impassive but his mind boiled and tumbled, questions chasing trough his head.  
Did he know, was he mocking him or did Uncle hide it from the Prince? What did the man know?

He examined Felix as he sipped at his wine and Dmitri, who watched the Prince drink, and  
relaxed. He decided that if the need arose, Felix or Dmitri would be simple to control. If you had  
one, you had the other. Fools, so easily leaving them selves open to weakness.

"Our country is in crisis." Felix continued." Our beloved cousins do not seem to understand that a  
peasant seeks to rule Russia. With kind words and the pretext of helping Alexi,poor little one who  
suffers so from a very cruel disease, this...this man--this monster insinuates himself deeper and  
deeper into the bosom of Mother Russia. If my cousins cannot see this, if we cannot open their  
eyes, then this cancer must be excised by loyal, faithful hands. This monster must be  
destroyed--for the good of all."

Dmitri looked down at his hands and smiled, a faint sneer that washed over his features but when  
he turned his face to Felix, all that showed there was an avidness and a heat that made Kirill feel  
warm also.

"Your Uncle and I arranged matters between us to our mutual satisfaction, what Alexei and your  
Uncle arranged will be explained by him," the prince turned to Alexei when he shifted in his seat  
and reached in his tunic. Dmitri's eyes snapped his way.

"Yes, my friend, you wish to speak?" Felix asked and Dmitri leaned against him, scowling a little  
until Felix reached up to stroke his fingers through Dmitri's hair. His eyes narrowed and he smiled  
thinly at Alexei. He reached over to let his hand rest on the inside of Felix's thigh.

Alexei chuckled and rolled his unlit cigar through his fingers before tucking it back into an inside  
pocket. He straightened his tunic and smiled slowly at Kirill, who filled with frustration and anger  
at being alternately toyed with and ignored by him.

"You can come to my car after dinner, we'll...talk."

Dmitri smiled at Kirill, a sharp smile that went nowhere near his eyes.

There was a clatter of porcelain and silver as the meal was brought in, and uniformed staff set up  
the dinner and adjusted the gas jets till the interior of the car glowed like a jewel. All this luxury  
was a little overwhelming for Kirill; he fought to keep it from his face. He distracted himself with  
imaging a gruesome death for each grinning jackal of them; it made him smile around his spoon  
as he sipped up a thin and flavorless concoction masquerading as soup.

It was some time after dinner that he stood outside of the door to the officer's car and waited to  
be let in.

"Come."

He stepped in and the first thing he saw was Alexei, sitting with his back to a burlwood desk, his  
hands curved around the sides of an ornately carved wooden box on his lap. Kirill recognized it at  
once; the sight brought a familiar feeling of dread and sick excitement that slid through his gut like  
a snake.

Alexei smiled gently at him, looked down as he stroked the carved box. "Beautiful work. It's very  
old, isn't it?" His fingers traced the flowers carved into the surface of the lid. "Your Uncle was  
more than generous to lend me the use of his baubles." He raised the lid slightly and Kirill hissed  
under his breath. Pain stabbed behind his eyes and sweat broke out on his forehead and he  
waited.

Alexei examined the items in the box and tilted his head up at Kirill, closed the lid again and  
studied him, his lips pressed together in a small quirky smile. "Strange that this wooden box has  
panels of lead inside. Why is that, you think?" he asked as he slowly caressed the wood like he  
was touching skin.  
Kirill jerked his eyes away from the hypnotic motion of the elegant hands, made a sound of  
frustration and anger and took a step forward but Alexei didn't move.

"Boots off." he was commanded. Kirill stopped. He had no idea why he wanted his boots off, but it  
was a small enough thing, maybe he'd be satisfied with it. Maybe he had some strange need to  
see bare feet. He smothered the smile that threatened to break through as he pulled off his boots  
and set them to the side. Alexei crooked a finger at him, and he padded close, his toes gripping  
the soft nap of the carpet. He stood barefoot in front of him and Alexei spoke softly, "Undress.  
Please," but it clearly was an order.

Kirill blushed in anger and complied, taking off each item and folding it, setting it to the side of his  
boots. He might have no choice but to obey, but he could take his time in doing so.

Alexei chuckled as if he were aware of Kirill's small rebellion.

He stood naked before him and Alexei's eyes burned him as they swept over his flesh. "Turn," he  
said and Kirill turned. He kept his eyes down as he moved in a circle before Alexei. He felt like an  
animal...like the thing Boris told him he was. Even so, his cock began to stir under the colonel's  
intense scrutiny. He felt it jerk awake, and his hands automatically came up to cover himself.

"Don't" The single word sent a shiver down his spine and he stopped. "Keep turning..."

He was all too aware of himself as his cock swayed with his movement and he felt unprotected,  
vulnerable. It angered him and excited him at once, and he slowly came to a standstill, his head  
dropped and his hands clenched shut. He heard Alexei shift on his chair.

"Did I tell you to stop, little thing? No matter, come here."

He went to stand at the spot Alexei pointed at and waited and when Alexei gestured for him to  
kneel he dropped to the carpet and his breath came a little faster, and his fingers twitched.  
Excitement surged up his spine like a flash of lightning. How quickly could Alexei open the box,  
faster than his hands could reach his neck and snap the bones like dry twigs? His cock tried to  
press up against his stomach and it bobbed with every hitch of his breath, fluid pearling up and  
dripping on to his thigh.

Alexei licked his lips and slid forward on the chair. He hooked his thumbs in the waist of his  
trousers and spread his knees and quietly said, "Take them off, pet."

Kirill's eyes snapped up to Alexei's. He wanted him to take his pants off- he jerked hard and his  
cock spun threads of fluid out along his leg, it didn't matter--let him see his eagerness, it may be  
he could work it to his advantage. He reached again for the buttons on the trousers, and Alexei  
dropped his hands over his and squeezed. "No. The boots."

Of course. The boots had to come off first. He moved back on his heels, his breath came faster  
and he stroked his hands down the smooth shaft of one boot, until his fingers curled around the  
heel of the boot and he cupped it in his hand, the toe pressed against his belly. The cool leather  
grazed his aching cock and made him gasp; he pulled the boot loose gently and set it down. He  
removed the other and surreptitiously stroked it over his cock in search of some relief. Sweat ran  
down his back, he felt like he was burning. He rose up to his knees again and reached once more  
for the waistband of the trousers, grazing the hard ridge under the wool and Alexei chuckled.

"My dear pet--you misunderstand me. I want you to clean the boots. Now if you please."

Kirill stare at him in shock. What? What did he mean--his face flamed and he felt a ball of fire in  
his chest. "What...."

"There's a kit by the door, I believe--ah!" he looked towards the door with anticipation as a series  
of knocks rang out and a woman came in, glanced at Kirill on his knees and smiled at the colonel.  
"Should I wait?" she asked indicating Kirill.

"No, no, he's not important." Alexei replied, and looked at her in concern"...Unless it would disturb  
you to have him here?"

"Not at all." she smiled, and stepped around Kirill as if he were a piece of furniture.

His teeth ground together, he shook, he burned with anger. He was going to murder this shit in  
the most painful, most gruesome way he could imagine.

The woman dropped onto the pile of pillows on Alexei's bed, watched him disrobe, flinging each  
article of clothing Kirill's way and giggling when his tunic struck him in the face. Kirill licked at the  
brief sting a metal button left on his mouth, and unnoticed crushed the tunic against his face  
before dropping it. He stared at Alexei, he ate him with his eyes, he breathed in his scent, he  
looked at him, in him ...

The woman was laughing as Alexei pushed her flat on the bed and threw her gown up, threw her  
legs over his shoulders and kissed her belly. She smiled and tapped him on the shoulder,  
pointed. Kirill stood rooted to the spot Alexei left him in, frozen in wonder. Alexei raised an  
eyebrow at him and tilted his chin to the door," Boots? Have you forgotten?"

Kirill snatched the kit up, grabbed a boot and glowered. He listened to the murmuring on the bed.  
He refused to look, staring at the boot in his hand instead. The springs squeaked and creaked as  
they moved about, the linens rustling and the woman laughed breathily, gasped, the squeaking of  
the springs increased until against his will he had to look up and saw that she was bent over  
Alexei, kissing noisily at his belly while he grinned down at her, and she licked wet, loud, sucking  
circles around his navel. Kirill could hear the lapping sound of her tongue hitting Alexei's flesh, he  
could smell him and hear him moan when her lips closed around the tip of his cock. When her lips  
slid down and Alexei's hips thrust up and he bared his teeth, Kirill struggled not to make a sound  
and lost.

He groaned when Alexei knelt in the bed and twisted her around, threw her gown over her head  
and all Kirill could see was her bottom in the air and Alexei's cock pushing against her, sliding up  
the cleft ...Kirill jammed the boot against his belly and viciously applied polish and watched the  
purple cock sink into her and pull back, wet and slick and Kirill applied more polish and ground  
the boot harder against him and his cock drooled steadily...he watched the muscles in Alexei's  
buttocks clench and unclench as he thrust into her and he grabbed the boot brush and brushed  
savagely at the boot and rubbed the shaft against his cock and watched Alexei plunge in and out  
of her and he threw the boot down and stripped his cock viciously, his breath felt like fire in his  
throat and he grunted every time Alexei thrust.

When Alexei threw his head back and shook and groaned every muscle in Kirill's body  
contracted, stars exploded in his head and lightning boiled through him and blew out of his  
cock--he caught his come in his hand, licked it quickly down as Alexei hung over the woman's  
back, trembling and gasping out the end of his orgasm. When his breathing slowed to normal, he  
lifted his head and told Kirill, "Dress. Leave. I'll speak to you tomorrow."

Dismissed, Kirill dressed and left the car. His chest felt pinched and painful, and his jaw clenched  
so tight he felt he'd never be able to move it again. He leaned against the wall, waited in the  
corridor until the woman left Alexei and made her way to her own car. He followed close behind  
and at the door she turned and smiled. "So, have you come to have a little fun of your own?" He  
didn't answer, just looked at her until she sought to fill the silence "Come on then, I can give you  
what he got, we can always discuss gifts later--"

He pushed her back inside and slammed the door shut and threw her against the wall so hard her  
breath exploded from her lungs. He dropped down in front of her and ripped her skirt away and a  
long ragged strip of material pooled on the floor at her feet. He pressed his face into her wet curls  
and inhaled deeply before pushing his tongue into her. He pulled her legs apart and thrust tongue  
and fingers into her, curling his tongue into her heat and licking, sucking, pushing his tongue past  
the fingers that held her open, thrusting deeper into her. He pressed her hard against the wall  
with the other hand, fingers splayed against the soft smooth skin of her belly and he swelled  
again at the scent of Alexei lingering on her skin, in her--

Come dripped down her legs and he needed that, he needed every bit of Alexei he could find, he  
had to have it. He yanked open his pants and held himself and he was so hard it hurt, he fucked  
his hand and fucked her with his tongue-- he needed to taste him and smell him - he licked and  
bit at her thighs and bit until her moans of pleasure changed to cries of pain and he pumped into  
his hand faster, with his other he pressed harder and harder until he felt bone snap and splinter,  
something in her popped and gave softly under his hand and still he licked up the fluid from her  
thighs until no more ran and he shuddered as his cock leaped in his hand and spilled over the  
floor in front of her.

When he took his hand away, she slithered to the floor.

He stood and looked down at her. A prostitute...who would miss a prostitute, who would care....  
looked at the carpet she was sprawled on.

He snapped bones and folded her into the carpet and she made a nice neat package, a warm  
memory of Cook folding apples up into squares of pastry dough drifted through his mind, and he  
lifted the bundle into his arms.

He made his way down the corridor, moving at inhuman speed so that he was a faint blur until he  
was at the last car. He walked out onto the railed platform, the raw wind ripping at him cooling  
him pleasantly. He drew in a deep breath and threw the bundle as hard and as far as he could.  
He watched the dark mass sail out through the air and turned, all interest gone.

She no longer concerned him--wolves or the elements would take care of her now, he thought as  
he licked his lips, tasted salt, copper, the woman and Alexei...he shuddered deep in his bones.  
Alexei....

On the afternoon of the next day, they arrived in St.Petersburg, and the porters directed them to  
the area their luggage would be brought from the train.

Kirill slowly circled, looking around at the massive station platform. Smoke and steam blew out  
into the air, making him think of an underground palace - the home of dwarves, perhaps, as the  
smell of wet iron and of burning wood and fuel rode on the crisp air, and plumes of breath came  
from every mouth, mimicking the trains.

High over head great panels of leaded glass let in cold light that poured over everything below,  
lighting iron rafters and pillars, piles of luggage and a busy to and fro of people, more people in  
one place than he'd ever seen, more noise than he'd ever heard. The sounds of hundreds of  
voices echoing in the great space made his ears ring painfully, it took all his strength not to clap  
his hands over them. He grimaced anyway, the magical quality of the great icy space rapidly  
loosing its luster. Alexei touched him lightly on the shoulder and pointed to a massive stairway.  
The party made its way to the street, pursued by porters and their carts piled high with luggage.

At the street, Kirill found another miracle, and another reason to kill Boris.

Felix smiled at him so warmly that he felt it in his gut, and pointed to something amazing.

"Look here, my friend. Do you like this?" He ran his hand over the slick metal flank of a beautiful  
machine. It made Kirill's eyes go wide in wonder--it was a closed carriage but, miracle indeed, it  
had no horses.

It roared and stank and was entirely beautiful. It crouched at the curb, vibrating as it growled. It  
gleamed a deep blood red, it's lanterns and trim were silver and shone softly in the light, and  
called to him like a lover.  
He was going to have one of these--many of these. He looked around himself and saw that other  
carriages rode the streets. He would do so; he would drive his own--soon, soon.

There was a driver for this vehicle, and Felix and the driver were bent over the open front of the  
car.

Alexei spoke softly in his ear. "This automobile needs no horse, that" he indicated the engine,  
"drives it. Magnificent isn't it?" He pulled away and climbed into the rear seat, Felix and Dmitri  
took the seat behind the driver. Kirill tore himself away from the sight of the driver so calmly and  
confidently pushing about in the guts of the machine, the man lifted his head and met Kirill's eyes  
with a smirk, and kept them on him till he climbed into the car.

Once inside, Kirill leaned back against the deeply tufted leather seat and closed his eyes, sniffing  
appreciatively. The scent of leather and polished wood was familiar and comforting. There was a  
jerk and a rumble and then they were moving out into the street, people dashing out of their way  
and other cars blaring their horns at them. He was amazed at the speed and smoothness of the  
ride, it rivaled any carriage he'd ever been in.

He leaned his cheek against the pleasantly cold glass of the window and his breath bloomed  
against the pane. He sketched a bird shape into the frosted glass with a finger and smiled to  
himself. He exhaled against the glass and did it again--and looked up to see Alexei looking at  
him strangely for a moment before his face smoothed out into his normal expression of amused  
superiority....

Kirill hid his surprise. He recognized that expression. He'd seen it on his Uncle, softening his  
hawk-like features, and warming his eyes, it was on his face when he was whispering  
endearments to, and brushing down his favorite horse. He felt warm and angry at the same time.  
No one had ever looked at him like that before. What did it mean? He hadn't done anything for  
him--why would he look at him like that?

His mouth filled with the taste of Alexei, and his cock hardened a little. He felt his cheeks flush  
and Alexei smirked and leaned back against the seat. "Come here, little thing. Sit closer to me."

He patted the seat at his side and Kirill slid across to him. His breath came faster, what did he  
want of him--underneath there flowed a barely acknowledged thought--hope that he wanted  
something from him.

Alexei tilted Kirill's head back, his leather gloves sliding against his cheek. "Amazing." He tilted  
his head this way and that, and Kirill could hear a soft scrape as the stubble on his chin caught  
against the glove. "Completely amazing."

He coaxed Kirill closer; pulling his fingers forward beneath his chin and than Alexei's lips were  
nearly touching his. Warmth made his lips part and Kirill couldn't keep his eyes open.

"So human," Alexei murmured and touched the tip of his hot, hot tongue to Kirill's lips and made  
him groan. He spoke and the air puffed out against his lip and dried it "You taste human." He  
pressed harder until Kirill opened his mouth to him and his silky tongue glided in over his, stroked  
and slid over the inside of his mouth curling around his teeth and under his lip, seeking  
something.... He pulled back and Kirill gasped at the loss of contact.

"You feel human," he said and Kirill's stiff cock twitched. He couldn't close his mouth completely  
and he was panting, fighting not to moan. He wanted more kisses; he wanted Alexei to look at  
him again like he was precious.

Alexei told him to open his coat, and Kirill swiftly complied. Alexei slid his gloved hand under his  
tunic and he shivered like he was going to fly apart--God.

"Mmmmh." Alexei rubbed circles on his trembling stomach and coaxed his hips up. "Unbutton  
this." he said and ran his knuckles down the fly of Kirill's trousers. His cock strained to reach his  
hand through the layers of material, and Kirill had to restrain himself from ripping through them  
all.

His pants were open and the cloth pushed out of the way and Alexei touched him with his bare  
hand--he cried out at the touch of warm skin on his cock. He threw his hips up and pushed his  
pants down till they puddled on the floor. Alexei looked at him, licked his lips.

"You are beautiful, it's true. Why? I wonder why a creature should look so like a man," His hand  
was moving up and down on Kirill's cock as he spoke and it leaped and jerked in his grip and he  
uttered a low and constant stream of moans and curses. His knees fanned out and he tried to  
fuck Alexei's fist--"please, please, harder, faster," he groaned, and pumped upwards into the  
hand that held him captive.

Pre-come poured steadily from the purple head and he grunted when Alexei pressed his thumb  
against the tip. His eyes rolled back when Alexei pressed his mouth over his and copied the  
thrust of Kirill's hips with his tongue and ordered him to come....

He was going to die in the dark, flying higher and higher, he felt the heat of the sun in the  
blackness, caressing him, pulling him higher, his lungs fluttered with the effort to breathe and he  
was forgetting how to, the heat filled him, burned him, boiled his blood and his brains, knifed  
through his bowels and at last the fire that filled him came roaring through him, streaking down  
his spine, exploding in his belly and bursting out of his cock....

Spunk shot across his legs, his stomach and flowed over Alexei's pumping fist and he shouted  
out for mercy and tried not to rip the seat leather to shreds.

He was half in the world and half out as the officer raised his hand to his mouth and sucked a  
finger between the beautiful lips that Kirill craved desperately, wanted on him all the time--Alexei  
made a small sound of surprise and licked at his hand, more and more eagerly until his hand was  
wet and shining and clean.

"Felix said nothing about that," he mused, " He turned his attention to Kirill again.

"You taste...good. Very good." He stared at Kirill's softening cock with something like regret.

"Citrus, and ...something..." He leaned over and licked at him and Kirill gasped and trembled.

"Dress." He waved at him and sat back again, staring out of the window. Kirill quickly did up his  
trousers and looked at Alexei with awe.

Boris was wrong. Wrong. He did have a soul. He'd always had a soul.

It was just that until this moment, he'd never had a God.

The cars stopped in the great marble porch of a magnificent palace--This was the fairy tale castle  
of his childhood. Here was a palace of gods, Zeus would make his home here in comfort, he  
thought. He stood on shaky legs on the street as the Prince and Grand Duke passed him with  
knowing smiles--he took no notice of them. His whole attention was drawn to the palace.

The building seemed to soar off into the air; he thought his Uncle's dacha could be multiplied by  
ten and still have room for more inside the palace.  
Servants swept toward them to relieve them of bags and show the Prince to his waiting retinue,  
the Duke trailing him idly. Alexei snorted shortly and gestured briskly for Kirill to follow him.

Kirill stared about him in undisguised awe as understanding dawned.

So this was what his Uncle was willing to bargain Kirill's life and his body for, a place here among  
these people? He nodded to himself.  
Yes--- one could yearn after this all ones life after having it and then being torn from it. He would  
have made the bargain too.

He followed Alexei up a staircase that reached to the heavens, as beautiful as if it had come from  
the hands of saints. Pure white marble dazzled the eye and flooded the senses, statues leaned  
languidly in their ornate niches, the thick Persian rug running the center of the treads ate up all  
sound, no noise came from their footfall.

Kirill drank in the sight; he wanted to drown himself in the beauty. It _was_ heaven, a part of  
heaven, the vaulted ceiling with its carved arches hung over him as if to enfold him in its  
embrace, as beautiful as Alexei, just as perfect, as smooth and cold as ice. He stopped and  
closed his eyes and shuddered in the grip of ecstasy.

Alexei prodded him, urged him along, and scowled. "You'll have time to look at all this shit later--  
I'm tired and I want to wash and lay down now."  
He moved forward swiftly, whatever good mood he'd been in on the journey evaporated now that  
they were home. "I have too much to do ahead of me, I need a clear head."

The servant with them hurried ahead of Alexei, opening the door to his apartment and bowed  
hurriedly out of his way. The men behind them deposited the cases in the rear of the rooms and  
quietly left.  
"Dinner will be at seven, sir," the man said and Alexei dismissed him. He looked at Kirill blankly.  
"You can unpack the suitcases later."

Kirill glared. Why did he have to do it? Didn't he understand that things had changed for them?  
He was ready to die for him but - he was much more than a servant. How could he not realize  
that? He growled under his breath and his hands clenched.

"Sit," Alexei snapped at Kirill and pointed at a large leather chair facing a fireplace. "And close  
your mouth, you've played the country cousin enough for today."

His hand slid into his pocket when Kirill whirled on him, his rather sharp white teeth exposed as  
he snapped his mouth closed, and a flash of defiance that was habit he couldn't suppress flowed  
through him.

"In case you feel the desire to disobey..." Alexei pulled his hand out of his pocket and held up his  
closed fist to show Kirill.

Kirill backed up quickly, his mouth drying, and his stomach feeling queasy. Of course, he  
recognized the feel of one of his Uncle's toys. He tried not to feel anything. He hated the crystal  
so much, it twisted his gut and turned his blood to water and he wanted it too, it made his cock  
heavy, sometimes it made him hate himself even more than he hated Boris.

"Yes, beautiful monster. I have many different gifts from your Uncle." He opened his hand as  
though he held an object of wonder on his palm and reflection from the crystal cast a green glow  
to his skin, he examined the thing with complete absorption. The desire to know it, understand it  
lit a fire in him. Curiosity radiated from him and Kirill noted the intense gaze he turned on him was  
the same he'd looked on the stone with.

Alexei smiled. "What a creative man, for the pile of horse turds he is." he said, his eyes sparkling  
at Kirill and filling his world even as he struggled for breath, his chest heaving violently. He  
couldn't move his eyes from the glittering blue eyes locked on his even as a crushing band of fire  
wrapped tighter and tighter around his ribs.

It must be a large piece of crystal, to make him feel so much pain, he thought and he groaned  
and trembled. "Please," he begged hoarsely, not really certain what he begged for....

"Kirill, Kirill," Alexei nearly sang, "What did you think you were going to do, hmm? We're going to  
have to make it plain what your role is, what your place is here, little one," he laughed. "You need  
to know who the master is."  
And Kirill's heart ached in his burning chest--- he dropped his head. He'd nearly disobeyed the  
god.

He dropped to his knees, holding out his hands to Alexei, whose eyes widened slightly in  
surprise. He cocked his head in interest and motioned him closer and he crawled clumsily on his  
knees towards him.

Kirill wanted to be forgiven or maybe to be punished; he wanted to know what he was to Alexei.  
The over-whelming truth in his life now was this, he needed Alexei, he didn't just desire him. He  
felt now if he were to be apart from him, he'd die as surely as being impaled on a spike of the  
green crystal. He crawled close and pressed his face against him, rubbed his cheek against his  
thigh the smell of Alexei filled him like wine and made his head swim, made his mouth water. He  
groaned deep in his throat when the strong elegant fingers threaded trough his hair and traced  
the shell of his ear.

"Yes, you. Beg for it," He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled himself out. "Do you want to touch  
me?"

Kirill shook, beyond the ability to speak, he moaned, he nodded; he looked up at Alexei with eyes  
full of pain and desire and something ancient and frightening. Alexei hesitated, and then against  
all sanity, put the piece of crystal back in the lead holder in his pocket, and Kirill gasped at his  
sudden release from the chains of pain.

"Now do you want to touch me? Do you want to use your hands, your mouth? Do you want to  
make me come, little thing, mine?"

The tone of voice was meant to be bantering but it was a little breathless, shook a little and the  
look Alexei received was wild and hot and helpless.

He frowned and looked a little puzzled as though he were seeing something which should not be  
possible

"God--yes, yes," Kirill sobbed in response to Alexei's question, "Yes, I need to." He was lost, he  
was blind, he was deaf to anything that wasn't Alexei. He spread his shaking fingers around the  
hot throbbing cock, and felt Alexei fight to remain soundless, not to move. Alexei's velvety skin  
over the iron was hot but Kirill burned for him, he knew the touch of his mouth would be hotter.

Everything he'd ever had to do for Boris he brought to bear on Alexei. He prayed to him with his  
mouth, and his tongue. He prayed with every thrust he opened his throat to, with every clench of  
his fingers on the smooth muscular ass, he used every bit of skill he had to gain the essence of  
his god, he drank it down and tears leaked out of his eyes unnoticed. He slowly moved his fingers  
over the clenched bud hidden between, begging for entrance and Alexei sighed agreement, and  
groaned as Kirill's finger slid slowly into the softening muscle.

When Alexei came, Kirill felt that he'd finally stopped dying slowly day by day, and came himself  
in rapture at the completion of his worship.

The days passed in a blur for Kirill, there were dinners and theater, and walks and always  
plotting, planning.

And in the evening, he took whatever Alexei would let him have.

He'd had several dinners with Prince Felix and the Princess. She seemed a pleasant enough  
woman who knew her husband's plan and would play a part herself. Her relationship to her  
husband's companions was interesting to say the least. The Duke and the Princess rarely spoke  
directly to one another--she spoke to Alexei not at all if it were possible. She watched him as if  
he were a barely tamed tiger.

Alexei in his turn returned her scrutiny and seemed to be amused by it, but to Kirill's eyes it  
appeared Felix enjoyed it most.

Alexei sat waiting impatiently for the Princess to take her leave of them. They were always left in  
the study at the end of the evening, Irina kissing Felix carefully on the forehead and wishing him a  
pleasant evening, making a show of checking to see his brandy and cigars were ready before  
wishing the rest of the company good-night. She always lingered longest by Kirill and for him had  
the most genuine smile. It amused Alexei highly when he thought of it.

He alone knew that Kirill would kill her and everyone in the room with a smile if he needed to,  
he'd killed the prostitute on the train without an ounce of remorse and had come screaming when  
Alexei made him describe it as he stroked his cock. That had been most satisfying, he thought to  
himself.

As always Irina wished him goodnight and tried to avoid his eyes, he as always caught hers and  
stared into them until she squirmed. Felix never tried to stop the game, he enjoyed too much.

As soon as she closed the doors behind her this night, Alexei turned to Felix.

"Now let us put a finishing touch to these plans of yours, my Prince. We've talked around and  
around it and my patience is thin--I need to know what my charge is truly going to do." He  
dropped his hand on Kirill's knee and felt a tiny shudder go through him. It really was quite  
arousing--all he had to do was touch him in the briefest possible way and the creature was  
hard--whole days would go by that he could see the outline of his cock pressing against his  
trousers. It pleased him to torture him all day and then make him relieve himself at his feet. To  
see that great beautiful creature, groveling and begging him for relief...

The power in that alone was insanely arousing.

Felix wasted his breath in explaining once again why this plot was for the good of his Uncle and  
Aunt, and Dmitri kept his own counsel.

Alexei examined him unaware. He wondered thoughtfully if he might have to kill him. After all, his  
true duty was to defend and protect Felix--and Dmitri only by unspoken agreement. If Dmitri were  
any kind of threat to Felix after the death of the monk, well than he would be duty bound to  
eliminate him.  
Unless of course there was a greater advantage in keeping Dmitri alive and ridding himself of  
Felix. Which would be a terrible, terrible waste--he liked fucking Felix. He was really quite  
extraordinary. It was like fucking a panther.

Felix in the meanwhile prattled on about having Irina lure Rasputin into the palace and keeping  
him entranced with his fascination for her--feeding him poisoned cakes and wine.

Good lord, that was so like Felix to take the theatrical route. Poisoned cakes--why not simply  
take him out to the woods, blow out his brains and bury him? Uncomplicated and quick. He  
sneered faintly as Felix elaborated on his assassination plot. Exactly. Felix would never go for  
uncomplicated when he could enact an epic drama starring himself.

He lit a cigar and let his mind wander as he waited for the part of the plan that actually called for  
him to do something.

Felix described how the poison would work, how Rasputin would die and than--he would be taken  
in one of the cars after he died to the river and shoved under the ice "and this is where you come  
in Alexei, you and Voronkov," he heard and pulled himself back to the present.

"Ah?" Alexei tilted his dead back and blew a fat smoke ring above his head. He inclined his head  
towards Felix and smiled, all white teeth and icy blue eyes and enjoyed the little flare of interest in  
his eyes.

"Yes, you will drive the car and this young ox of a boy will handle the body." He smiled "No one  
knows you, young Voronkov; no one would suspect your role."

And the unspoken words? No one would care, you are a man with no real family or estate and no  
one would miss you in the depths of a prison or at the mercy of a firing squad. All loose ends tied  
neatly together whichever way the plot played out.

Alexei knew Boris Voronkov would get what he wanted whether Kirill survived or not. He also  
knew that Kirill's survival lay entirely in his hands. He could return him, keep him, destroy him--  
the minute Boris released him into his hands he gave away his control of him. Unless, he  
chuckled, the creature was stupid enough to go back to Boris on his own. He turned ice blue eyes  
to examine the boy.

No--he wouldn't be that stupid. He would stay here where Alexei wanted him. Alexei flinched.  
Where had that ridiculous thought come from? He stared narrowly at Kirill. He needed to stop that  
train of thought now. His eyes traveled up Kirill's body and burned into him, and Kirill turned  
cloudy green eyes to him. Just the expression on his face, the look in his eyes told him Kirill was  
achingly hard, simply because he looked at him. He ignored his own heat.

Felix was speaking again--"Hmm? I'm sorry?" he asked, his eyes still on Kirill, whose features  
now were stiff and unreadable.

Felix--ah. He realized he had asked him for the pleasure of Kirill's company in his study. He held  
the boy's eyes and said yes, of course and watched the swirl of emotion in his eyes. There.

It had to know. It wasn't a lover; it was a servant, an amusement. He smiled at Kirill and tried to  
walk away, but to his shock and horror he couldn't. He stood rooted to the spot, looking into  
Kirill's eyes. He shook himself angrily and turned to Felix, and Dmitri.

"Enjoy yourselves." He waved at Kirill in a dismissive manner and smirked at him.

He left the study.

Kirill felt a strange pain radiating out from his chest and sinking onto his bones. It was almost  
frightening, this feeling. Could it be a piece of the crystal?

He looked at the pair opposite him and knew he had no choice. What Alexei wanted was what he  
wanted, he told himself.

Felix called him over to stand next to Dmitri and himself and he watched as they disrobed,  
disrobed himself at Felix's command.  
He watched them kiss, and unwillingly his cock hardened again.  
Dmitri kissed the length of Felix's neck, across his chest and licked and bit at a reddening nipple,  
his eyes on Kirill. His cock leaked on Felix's thigh, and Felix smeared his finger through it,  
brought it to his lips, and Kirill shuddered and his mouth watered remembering the taste of Alexei.  
Dmitri pointed to a spot on the floor in front of the sofa and he slowly sank to his knees in front of  
them.

* * *

Alexei made himself comfortable in the sitting room, idly skimming through a book and sipping a  
small glass of vodka. He liked vodka, it was clear and sharp and nothing could be hidden in it.  
There were no mysteries in vodka, you drank it to forget. You drank it to swim loose from your  
concerns for a little time. He leaned back in his chair and cast a brief glance at the clock on the  
mantle before returning to his book.

* * *

Felix reached out a hand and wrapped fingers around Kirill, slowly moving them up and down his  
stiffening erection. Dmitri continued to trace his tongue the length of Felix's body, and Kirill was  
mesmerized by the slow waves that flowed through Felix, his gasps as Dmitri found a sensitive  
spot and worried it, the lazy movement of his cock when he arched his hips. Kirill began to breath  
heavier--

* * *

Alexei rose and replaced the book in the bookcase, it wasn't interesting him tonight, and he  
scanned the other titles--nothing piqued his interest there. He moved about the apartment  
straightening pillows on the sofa, folding and refolding the fur blanket there...he straightened the  
glasses in the small bar and lined the bottles up like soldiers, and still he wasn't satisfied. He  
glanced at the clock on the mantle and refilled his glass.

* * *

Kirill groaned as Dmitri engulfed him, slid down his cock until his nose rubbed in the curls at the  
base. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, gave himself up to the sensation of the  
man's mouth as he bobbed up and down on him. He concentrated on the wet sound of Dmitri's  
mouth struggling to contain him, the gentle murmur of Felix encouraging him, hard fingers  
scrambling across his thighs as Dmitri pulled him in, made him thrust. He heard a rustle of heavy  
material and then he felt a hot tongue run up his sweating thighs, and Dmitri dug strong fingers  
into his ass, granting access to the questing tongue. For a moment all he was aware of was liquid  
fire poured into that tight ring of muscle, and then his gut clenched and he could feel his cock  
swell even more in Dmitri's mouth, and he lost his battle to keep silent.

* * *

The first thing Alexei broke was the clock, swept off the mantle to smash into pieces against the  
tiles surrounding the fireplace. He threw the carefully straightened glasses one by one into the  
fireplace and listened to the sound of crystal exploding with joy. He ignored the gash a flying  
piece opened on his cheek, and contemplated throwing the decanters into the fireplace after  
them. His eyes were wild as he watched the flames leap and twist - he wiped his dripping cheek  
and licked his fingers clean and thought about Kirill. He dug the pad of his thumb into the cut and  
wondered what he could do with the items in the box. He walked towards the bedroom humming  
as he tongued and cleaned the blood from his thumb.

* * *

Kirill hung over Felix, sweat ran down his face into his mouth, he groaned and flexed inside the  
heat of him. He was sheathed tightly in a glove of hot flesh and he'd never experienced so pure a  
feeling. Felix shook when he moved and hissed out his name, his hands grasped Kirill's forearms  
and he began to move himself onto Kirill's cock. The pleasure was so intense it was nearly pain  
and the broken sounds Felix made drove the pleasure higher,  
Kirill watched Felix's face--the beautiful lips were drawn tight against his teeth, his tongue licked  
out from time to time and swept away sweat beaded up on the pink mouth, his blue blue eyes  
were navy now, his skin ivory and rose in the glow of the Moroccan lamps.

* * *

"Look how beautiful he is," Dmitri's hot breath blew over his cheek, his teeth scraped along his  
neck. "Look how hard he is for you--he begs you for it-- fuck him, fuck the bitch--" Kirill shook  
uncontrollably and he slid deeper into Felix, he was pushed into him by the force of Dmitri's slow,  
torturous drive into him--Dmitri's cock filled him and hurt him and made him cry out in ecstasy  
when he nudged a spot that made stars fill his body and heat filled him and heat swallowed him--  
it was like being suspended for an eternity halfway between pleasure and pain-- his cock flexed  
and Felix tightened on him-- he cried out when Dmitri snapped his hips forward. Sweat dripped  
from him to spatter on Felix, and he felt Dmitri bite down on him so hard a man's skin would have  
split and poured blood. The image made him shudder from heads to toe and he drove into Felix  
hard, and Dmitri howled low in his ear as he clamped around his jerking cock. Kirill moaned and  
fucked Felix in abandon, in his mind he drove into Alexei, who howled and begged for mercy as  
he fucked him hard, harder, until tears ran down his face and he blessed Kirill and came on his  
stomach--and Felix yelled and called out for Dmitri as his cock spurt come across Kirill's  
quivering stomach, on his chest--Dmitri laughed and "Yes," he panted, "Yes," and came groaning  
when Kirill's body spasmed and clamped down tight on him in the throes of his own orgasm---  
Kirill bit savagely into his lip to maintain silence.

* * *

Alexei yanked the carved wooden box from the cabinet in the bedroom and ripped open the lid.  
He dumped the contents onto the bed. "Freak," he chanted, "monster, freak, creature." He  
grinned, a twisted perversion of his usual cool and sardonic look, and began separating out the  
contents of the box. A long length of too thin cord slithered to the floor at his feet. Unremarkable  
cord save for the crystals woven into its length. He smiled and drew it through his hands, and  
looked again at the bed. The pair of interesting gloves caught his eye, and he dropped the rope to  
touch them.

He knocked the box aside and as he did so a little hidden drawer popped open, and inside was  
small velvet wrapped bindle. Alexei took the bundle out and opened the fabric and in his hand  
was a tiny set of knives carved from crystal. Each knife was no longer than his index finger and  
no wider; the blades were impossibly thin for being made from the green crystal. They shone in  
the dim light and Alexei thought they were beautiful. As beautiful as the boy himself.

He prepared a few items and went to sit in the living room-- he felt no restlessness now, now he  
was ready.

Kirill opened the door to Alexei's apartment as silently as he could, he didn't want to disturb him if  
he was sleeping--and suddenly the nerves in his already tender lip flared with piercing pain, and  
blood sprayed out onto his chin as his head snapped around. When his eyes were clear again he  
was on his back and Alexei's face was hanging over him, a beautiful snarl on his lips and the  
hand enclosed in a glove dropping back out of a high arc to smash against his cheek. He heard  
the bone snap and a second later felt it as a bloom of fire ripping through him, he cried out and  
Alexei smacked him hard in the mouth, grunting with the force, "Shut up, you."

His eyes were ablaze as he yanked Kirill to his feet by a handful of hair and Kirill was torn  
between vomiting with fear and crying at his majesty. He dropped to his knees and Alexei  
smashed his fist against his shoulder, and against his back when he fell to hands and knees, he  
beat him over and over and Kirill retched and shook, Alexei's harsh voice kept him tethered to  
awareness, he spoke and beat him and spoke and beat him.

Over and over, "My boots," he shouted and kicked him in the ribs and pain blinded him  
momentarily, "My sword--" he snapped Kirill's head to one side with a backhanded slap of the  
heavy crystal studded glove--  
"My horse--my boy, all of it damn it, all of it-- _mine_! All of it and you--my fucking property!"

Kirill panted, trying desperately to breathe around the pain-- and then he was being dragged  
across the wooden floor, trying not to fall to his face, scrabbling like a crab to keep up with Alexei.

Alexei muttered to himself as he looped the cord around the heavy bedposts, and Kirill lay on his  
side and tried to still his heaving stomach. He was afraid to vomit--he didn't know what to expect  
from Alexei. He was so angry, raging, and there was nothing Kirill could do to protect himself  
except to give him what he wanted. He wanted his pain and he could only make the sacrifice.

Into the cords--tied hands and feet and spread wide like a butchered lamb. Alexei smiled at him  
and displayed the velvet bundle and he shivered, his eyes rolling shut. He knew which toys these  
were.  
He remembered Ivan lying in the straw and laced with thin red lines--he remembered licking  
those lines, reopening them with his teeth as the boy shook and cried...

His cock slapped upwards against his stomach and Alexei laughed. He took one of the gently  
glowing knives and traced a single long looping line from between Kirill's shoulders to right above  
his cleft; blood rolled into the cleft and down, he could feel its heat pooling against his hole, and  
Alexei teased the knife slowly, slowly downward as Kirill shook...

"Afraid, my pet, my special one? I would be in your place...there's nothing to stop me from killing  
you, is there?" He slid the blood slick blade up again, his tongue tracing the path of the crystal  
knife.

Kirill shook his head and groaned "Please."

Alexei slowly drew the knife in a big arc across his back and touched the line, traced it with his  
fingers. It burned like fire and Kirill sobbed aloud and his cock swept a wet and glistening line  
along his thigh. Alexei sucked scarlet painted fingers into his mouth and smiled around them. He  
brought his face to Kirill's and breathed out the scent of his own blood into his nose, and kissed  
him as he tightened a loop around the quivering boys neck.

Alexei climbed onto the bed behind him and leaned all his weight against him, kissing along the  
red arc as the loops around his throat tightened....  
His head swam and his throat burned, blackness eased in around the edge of his vision, and he  
felt his lungs flutter, beg for air.

Alexei slicked himself and yanked Kirill back against him, impaling him on his cock in one move,  
shouting out against his ear. He dragged Kirill's head back with a tight grip on his hair, wrapped  
and twisted in his fist and chewed on his throat as he fucked him without mercy, with no thought  
of Kirill's pleasure. He pounded into him with a steady punishing beat and Kirill gasped and  
panted because he couldn't scream... his vision was almost completely black, he was no longer  
sure if he was awake or in a dream and he felt his heart pound against his ribs, he felt it pounding  
in his gut, in his ass, every vein in his body throbbed and pounded and his breath narrowed down  
to a thin screech of air teasing his lungs.

Alexei was screaming, he heard him far away and he felt his cock burn in and out of him, he felt it  
lift and throb inside as it spewed come deep in him, so hot, so hot. He felt it like he never felt  
anyone else--it was driving up into his very soul and his own cock exploded--the pain, the  
ecstasy, the pain--he was gone out of his body and soaring back in the blackness, back under  
the heat of his own sun. The heat of his beloved burned him and he heard it, he knew he heard it,  
in the long string of words and curses and gasps he heard it whispered, groaned against his  
back--"mine, mine, my boy, I need you."

He hung in his ropes, covered in sweat and blood and smelling of Alexei and himself and Alexei  
touched his mouth gently, and stroked a thumb across his lips and he knew it was true.

Days went by in a dreamy state--Kirill thought he'd known pleasure before, now pleasure was so  
intense it nearly frightened him. Alexei wanted him near at all times now. He took every meal with  
him, he sat at the side of his tub as he bathed, and sometimes was honored to bathe with him---  
he loved being in the huge tub full of hot water and scented oil--he'd never get used to the luxury  
of so much water, so much hot water touching him everywhere...so much Alexei everywhere.

Luxury, it was everywhere in Petersburg. The luxury of bathing whenever you wished, the luxury  
of heated rooms, the luxury of electric lamps that glowed in the bedroom at evening. The steady  
unblinking light was an endless fascination for him, the bright almost harsh glow softened by red  
silk shades and he loved how it painted Alexei pink and rose. He could lay next to him all night  
and watch him breathe.

He could lie next to him. That was the greatest luxury of all.

Since that night he spent all nights in his bed, wrapped around Alexei like a blanket. His breath  
hitched, remembering Alexei, laying nude on a fur blanket, gilded rose by the light and stroking  
the fur, making Kirill jealous of it--and Alexei had looked and known what he wanted. Alexei  
always knew what he wanted.

* * *

A crisp cold sunny morning found them crunching through the snow on the way to a caf, Alexei  
decided the walk through the brisk dawn air would be good for them.

The sky was just turning from salmon to the gold of the budding sun and as they opened the door  
of the caf deliciously warm air blew over them. Air scented with the rich smell of roasting coffee  
and fresh pastries, just removed from a hot oven and adding their warmth to the cinnamon and  
chocolate -scented air.

It was one of Kirill's favorite places--he loved watching people. He loved examining their actions  
and reactions, calculating what he could do to alter them, make them move the way he wanted.  
Like Alexei did to him, and he smiled at him fondly.

Alexei sprawled in the chair opposite him, looking the very picture of repose with his coat draped  
over the back of the chair and a cup of coffee gently steaming away as he read the morning  
newspaper and smoked a cigarette. As if he felt Kirill's gaze he looked up to meet his eyes over  
the top of the paper, and Kirill could tell by the small lines creasing the corners that Alexei smiled  
at him.

Kirill played with Alexei's silver cigarette case and sipped at his cocoa. He liked the feel of the thin  
china clicking against his teeth, enjoyed the slightly gritty feel of the hot liquid and licked a bit of  
the rapidly dissolving cream off the top. The whipped cream melted over his tongue and left a  
memory of vanilla there. He sighed. He could live his whole life like this, waiting for the god to  
instruct him.  
He felt content. And as always when he felt happiest, he thought about one of his greatest  
desires.  
He looked forward to the day he dared ask permission to kill Boris Mikhail Voronkov.  
It was a dream he had frequently--he knew Alexei would join him, and it would be spectacular,  
beautiful. He would be like a wolf, his wolf, and they would fuck in the blood....

His enjoyable reverie was snapped when Alexei rose and bowed low over the hand of a not  
particularly attractive woman. Alexei looked at her with the look he reserved for Kirill, and a blaze  
ignited in his heart. How dare he look at another that way? Who was this bitch to deserve that?

He glanced at Kirill," Wait here until I return, you hear?" His tone was so dismissive it fanned the  
flames and the woman's eyes slid over him and away the exact way his did at home when  
dismissing a vassal.

He ached to kill her, but Alexei caught his eye and stared at him coldly, and slid a hand slowly  
into his trouser pocket.

Her turned from a red-faced Kirill and walked the woman to her table, where introductions were  
made and Alexei gave every sign of finding the woman to be fascinating. He touched her  
incessantly, stroking her arms and sometimes leaning close to brush his lips over her cheek, he  
kept touching and whispering to her, she lifted her chin and exposed her neck to him, touched his  
cheek, whispered back and under the table slid her hand into his lap and he smiled at her.

Kirill could scent their arousal, and he strained to keep his seat and not growl aloud. At long last  
Alexei rose and Kirill's eyes flashed through his heavy wool coat and his trousers and the silk  
under garments and he stared at his cock heavy with blood and he snarled at his betrayal--that  
was for him, him alone. Alexei summoned him like a dog, and they took a carriage back to the  
apartments--no leisurely walk back. He left Kirill in the marble archway--"Occupy yourself--I  
must speak to Felix."

He watched Alexei's graceful form stalk away from him and he was so angry tears of fury pricked  
his eyes. He stared after, his chest heaving with rage. A step behind him and he turned to see the  
driver--the one that had driven them from the train station. The one with the cheeky grin.

He leaned against a column in the archway and smoked a cigarette like he was making love to it  
and his eyes held Kirill's. Kirill grinned at him. A tabby playing with a tiger, he thought. Should we  
play this out?  
He laughed quietly. Why not? It was someone else's turn to be a plaything.

The driver took a final long pull and dropped the end to grind under his heel. He blew out a long  
thick stream of smoke and smirked at Kirill. He slid a hand under his tunic and adjusted himself,  
turned and walked off toward the garage. Kirill followed, anticipation making his mouth water.  
Fuck Alexei--fuck his girls...he'd occupy himself indeed, bastard.

* * *

The driver was good, tasted good, screamed well--he lay back in the seat of the Daimler and  
panted, his tunic ripped open from throat to crotch--his pants were wadded up and shoved under  
his hips and he was bruised from neck to knees.

He smiled blearily at Kirill, hissed when the movement re-opened his split lip. He licked at the rill  
of blood and his eyes flared when Kirill came back and leaned over him. He ran his hand down  
the man's torso and cradled his cock.

"Thank you for an interesting afternoon. I like the automobile very much." Kirill smirked.

The driver groaned and grimaced as Kirill drug nails through the hair at the base of his flaccid  
cock.

"No more? Too bad," he grinned. The other man groaned, as much arousal as pain.

"Would you like to stay in my rooms with me? Be just with me?" he asked and trailed his fingers  
along the man's neck. The driver looked triumphant, and nodded, turning his head to capture  
Kirill's fingers in his mouth.

He let him suck on them, enjoying the sensation before he spoke again. "Sad, such a shame I  
have a lover. Didn't you know?"

The man froze and turned eyes just beginning to frost with fear on Kirill.

"Not very bright are you, little fish...yet you see me with him every day. Tsk. That kind of  
inobservance will get you killed. What a shame if someone decided to...tell the officer, hmm?"

Kirill smiled at the in horror in the man's eyes. He really was a fool. Felix was hardly going to let  
Alexei kill such a valuable person. He needed those hands, those eyes, to maintain his beautiful  
cars. Of course, Alexei _was_ very inventive....

When he was back in the apartment he decided to run a bath, he was still angry with Alexei and  
he was not asking permission to bathe in his tub.  
When he looked in the bedroom, Alexei was there, lying on the bed, staring at nothing Kirill could  
see.

He stopped in the doorway a and Alexei said, "You're late, and... you stink." He turned his head  
toward Kirill and his brow creased in puzzlement. "You really _stink_ ," he said and his nose  
wrinkled in disgust.

Kirill backed up a bit--Alexei smelled wrong too. Strange, not like he did when he'd been with  
Felix or Dmitri or--It wasn't bad, just different. Strange. Wrong.

Alexei meanwhile rushed at him like a tiger after prey. His lips skinned back from his teeth, and  
he snarled again, "You stink!"

He pushed Kirill up against the wall and sniffed at his neck, and growled in his ear. He yanked his  
shirt open and back, trapping Kirill's arms in the material. "Stink! You reek, you--you-" Alexei was  
pale except for a blotch of red on either cheek and his eyes were wild and furious.  
He yanked Kirill's trousers open and his head snapped down, he stared at Kirill's still reddened  
cock and snapped his teeth closed. He caught his eyes, and Kirill felt a flutter of fear, Alexei's  
eyes were ice blue and blazing and terrifying.

"The smell--you--"He spat and pushed Kirill to the floor and left as the boy dropped heavily to his  
knees and stayed there. He was faithless and disgusting -he deserved to be punished. He  
wanted to atone.

Alexei came back and Kirill kept his eyes on his boots and the end of the thin green cord that  
pooled there between them.

The first strike of the cord was like ice biting into his skin, and the one after that was fire, and the  
one after that and the one after that -fire shrieked down every nerve and filled his body, Alexei  
struck again, again, again, and cursed him steadily, cursed until he was gasping and then all he  
heard was Alexei's harsh breath screaming in and out of his wide open mouth, and he struck him  
again--and now blood flew and splattered with every strike and fire and acid and ice ripped into  
him again and again.

Kirill was crying, tears and snot ran down his face and he screamed, "I'm sorry," every time the  
lash bit into him and after a while he cried. "Please," at every stroke and then he couldn't say  
anything, and after that he wasn't sure where the sound was coming from--it sounded like an  
animal in pain, but he was on his face, was it him?

Alexei yanked him upright and slapped him until he was aware again. He jammed his fingers in  
Kirill's mouth pulled down and snarled, "Suck." Kirill saw that he wasn't hard and blamed himself,  
he was so worthless, so unattractive an animal that his master was repulsed by him.

He lunged forward and swallowed Alexei's cock, and struggled to bring it to full stiffness. Alexei  
fucked his mouth violently, rocking his head back and forth as he did so, and finally his cock filled  
Kirill's mouth, slid into to his throat and drew back over his tongue. Hope rose in his soul and he  
thought that perhaps Alexei would find it in himself to forgive him for his sin and the he pulled out,  
took his cock away from him.

Kirill gaped at him, shocked. He held his hands out to Alexei, begging him but he backed away  
from Kirill, roughly fisting himself and then he arched and hissed and came on Kirill's upturned  
face.

Kirill jerked and gasped and quickly silenced himself when Alexei growled and slapped him,  
smeared the come around his face with the heel of his hand, smeared his shoulders, his neck.

He stepped back, refastened his trousers and pointed at the rug near the fireplace. "There, until I  
call you. If I call you. Understand me, creature? Not until I call you."

He slammed the door to the bedroom shut.  
Kirill huddled on the rug, and cried and wished Boris had killed him, wished Alexei had killed him,  
wished he could kill himself.

The next few days were marked by silence, Kirill was not given permission to speak to Alexei, he  
seldom gave any notice of him at all.

On an evening shortly after Kirill's punishment, an evening when the men where in the study,  
talking and sharing brandy after dinner, the Princess came into the study quietly and sat next to  
Felix. She took his hand and smiled at him.  
"Tomorrow, he comes to dinner. I've arranged it. He thinks it's to be just the two of us." Felix gave  
her a warm smile back, leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you my darling one." He sat back and smiled in satisfaction. "Tomorrow, Russia returns to  
her true course. All will be again as it should be." Dmitri gazed at Felix, a thoughtful expression on  
his face.

Kirill noted Dmitri's expression and saw that Alexei noticed it also. Alexei's hands flexed and he  
straightened, small movements but Kirill saw and knew Alexei was prepared to kill Dmitri if need  
be. He pushed the thrill he felt down deep inside of him.

Time was drawing short--the plot was coming to an end. Kirill's purpose here was coming to an  
end and after that he had no idea what was to become of him. The one constant in his life had  
always been his desire for revenge, against Boris, against all humans.

And then horribly, he'd fallen under the spell of a creature more frightening than he could ever be.

He hung his head. It was a spell, he knew, one that had taken all sense from him and made him  
believe his worship had been wanted. He'd been under the illusion that Alexei loved him back.  
Love. What a fool. Such a ridiculous word, such a ridiculous creature to think it applied to him.  
Kirill snorted and Alexei's eyes cut to him sharply, the expressionless look he'd come to know so  
well icing his features. Kirill started to drop his head, but instead raised it, and stared Alexei in the  
eye. The man stared back, and slowly, slowly a smile played over his lips, He lifted one corner of  
his mouth and showed a small sharp tooth, and nodded slightly.

Kirill let no expression show, but his heart raced. What had just been decided here?

Alexei settled back against the couch, and attempted to dismiss Kirill from his thoughts. So, the  
farce played out tomorrow evening and as soon as it was completed he was leaving, fuck this city  
and everyone in it. He'd had enough.

He pulled the silver cigarette box from his tunic pocket and briefly an image of Kirill sipping cocoa,  
playing with the case and smiling at him as if he were an innocent came to mind. He lit a cigarette  
and thought in surprise that yes, in a way Kirill was an innocent. He had no idea how to be, he  
had no real concept of good and evil. He just was.

And wasn't that the definition of innocence? He laughed lightly at his turn of thought. After all,  
Adam and Eve were innocent, and it was gaining knowledge of what was good and what was evil  
that caused them to be banished from paradise. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kirill flinch  
when he laughed, _amusing_...he ordered him back to the rooms. "Wait where I've told you to  
stay." Kirill stared at him for a moment before leaving the study.

Interesting, he thought. _There's that little flame I haven't seen in weeks_. He patted the little lead  
container in his pocket. _No matter_ , he thought. _I always have control_.

The princess took her leave soon after Kirill, and Dmitri rose to lower the lights. Felix shrugged  
out of his dinner jacket, and began removing the studs from his shirt. He glanced at Alexei, raised  
an eyebrow and smiled. Alexei shook his head, and poured more brandy into the deep snifter at  
his side, He swirled the contents and enjoyed the play of color, and the scent released.

Alexei enjoyed life. Life was simple, it was about suffering, it was about great pain and sorrow,  
and occasional moments of deep pleasure designed to make the pain cut that much deeper. Now  
was a moment of pleasure, he'd take it and eat it, use it for fuel. He tipped the crystal to his lips  
and let the warm liquid bite his tongue and flow over it, warming his mouth and throat. His eyes  
took in the sight of Felix nude and on his hands and knees while Dmitri stroked him like a dog.  
 _Enchanting_ , he thought sardonically but his breath quickened just the same. Watched Felix's  
cock flex and swell as Dmitri stroked closer and closer to his ass, so slowly that when he finally  
cupped a smooth cheek in his palm and squeezed Alexei couldn't stop a small groan from  
escaping his own lips.

Dmitri opened his trousers and slicked himself, the smell of roses filled the air and Felix  
whimpered high in his throat when Dmitri slipped his fingers into him. Alexei smoked and watched  
as the Duke pumped his fingers in and out, a look of concentration on his face so intense it was  
almost a grimace of pain. Felix was murmuring praise, begging, cursing and pushing back against  
Dmitri's fingers, he yanked them out and Felix gasped loudly, covering the small sound Alexei  
made.

Alexei spread his legs apart and unbuttoned his own trousers, sliding the material down a little.  
Unbidden the image of Kirill in the ropes flashed across his mind--an image of him curled up on  
the rug, naked and bruised...he stroked himself, and snarled.

Dmitri plunged into Felix in one stroke and nearly knocked him to his face. He pulled him upright,  
so that every part of their bodies touched, and then pulled out, and Felix and Alexei groaned.  
"Wait," he said and yanked Felix by the hand, positioned him so that he was bent over a chair and  
facing Alexei. His eyes were clouded with passion and Alexei doubted he really saw him. Felix's  
eyes rolled up when Dmitri pushed back in, slowly this time.  
His mouth dropped open and he groaned low as Dmitri slid in agonizingly slow, groaned until  
Dmitri was in and then silenced himself with a sob.

Alexei grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed. Felix was beautiful impaled; His mouth his  
eyes, the flush staining his torso and face rose, beautiful.

Dmitri fucked him steadily, silently, and Felix bit his lip trying to be silent also. Alexei groaned and  
pushed up into his fist. The sight was almost too arousing....

There was a click behind him and a rectangle of light blossomed on the far wall, a black shape  
within it pinned it there. Alexei grunted and rolled his head back at the horrified gasp, but Dmitri  
spoke first, not even hesitating in his stroke.

"Get out," he gasped harshly, his hands trapping Felix's hips and yanking him back with a wet  
slap of flesh against flesh.

Alexei finally made out the bone white features of the Princess.

Her hands were at her throat, a gesture so theatrical it made Alexei laugh. Felix rolled his head  
on his shoulders and shuddered, sweat pasting his hair to his face, unaware of anything except  
his own pleasure, lost in his own world, groaning and begging Dmitri to fuck him, fuck him harder  
and Dmitri spoke again, not unkindly.

"Leave. Close the door. You know he'll come back tomorrow."

She nodded, still whiter than snow, and backed swiftly out of the room. shutting the door just as  
Felix began panting and moving harder against Dmitri.

Alexei felt himself swell, his cock jumped in his grip, and heat swept him and he flooded his hand.  
He watched Felix come and Dmitri, who grit his teeth and kept his eyes locked on Alexei's....

He didn't want to be in the room with these sad little imitations of human beings. He wanted to be  
in his room, he wanted to have his pet. He wanted to kill everyone.

His heart lurched and his stomach twisted...he realized--the only one he wanted was the boy.  
Damn it.

He couldn't afford feelings like these. They weakened a man, slowed him down when he needed  
to move quickly. They needed to be addressed some how.

* * *

He returned to the apartment, mildly surprised that Kirill was on the rug. He rather expected him  
to be lurking behind the door, considering his show of defiance in the study.

Kirill sat up and moved away until his back was against the fireplace tiles. He watched Alexei  
move about the room sullenly, his eyes dark, unreadable.

"Come here," Alexei said, and held out his hand. Kirill looked suspiciously at him, not moving, not  
speaking.

"Get up, and come here," Alexei said again. Kirill rose and came towards him slowly.

"Tomorrow, the end of the journey nears, and I feel I owe you an explanation...and an apology."

His head hung and he reached out for Kirill's hand.  
Kirill grasped the outstretched hand, and shook a little as Alexei went on.

"You must understand, there are games we all are forced to play here. We live with them, and  
they are as second nature to us. Marriage...marriage is expected of us all, it provides heirs,  
alliances, social standing--this is our life. Felix plays it, Dmitri, I play it--you will too. Get used to  
it. I had to."

Kirill felt his heart break again when he realized what Alexei was saying--he could never have  
him to himself alone, he'd always have to share.

"Can you forgive me, my boy, can you look past it, and let me in your heart again?"

Kirill sobbed once, and dropped to his knees. He leaned down and kissed Alexei's boots. Laid his  
cheek on the cool leather for a moment and then pressed his head against Alexei's thigh, inhaling  
deeply the scent of home, safety, love...."Anything. I can forgive you anything."

Alexei carded his fingers through the thick black hair.  
"Really?" he murmured. "And I can forgive you too."

It was early the next evening when Felix and Alexei arrived with a tall, dark, boisterous man. Kirill  
hung over the banister at the top of the stair case and watched the men come in, bringing a gust  
of bitter night air and white flakes swirling briefly in the foyer.

The man, Rasputin, spoke loudly and acted as if he belonged at the palace, he seemed to have  
no charm, no social grace. Kirill wrinkled his nose. Peasant.

So this was the infamous Rasputin then. He reminded Kirill of Boris, a Boris without any of the  
charm, intelligence or polish that Boris had. But the self-interest was there, shining out of his  
eyes, lighting him from inside. He was a shell of want and greed, exactly like Uncle.

Fine. It would be a pleasure to remove this blot on Mother Russia's heart.

Kirill smirked. He didn't give a damn about Russia, he didn't give a damn about Boris, or  
Felix...but he could prove again to Alexei how worthy he was.

Alexei lifted his head almost as if he sensed Kirill' regard, and met his eyes. A thrill ran through  
the boy--- anytime Alexei looked at him, any time he touched him or smelled the scent of Alexei,  
leather and roses and smoke and blood, he was hard.

Alexei smiled at him and went on to the dining room with Felix and the Monk. Kirill went back to  
their apartment and waited for a summons.

Alexei watched the little drama unfold, watched Irina flutter about Rasputin. He smiled and caught  
Felix's eye. Felix gazed back, white as a sheet, and sipping at his glass of tea--sweat rolled  
down the side of his neck. Alexei snorted quietly to himself and drank his vodka.  
Poisoned cakes. He watched the monk fill himself on the sweet cakes, and thought again how  
idiotic this plan was. A shot to the back of the head, and they could all be in their beds now,  
sleeping soundly. This demand for theater...too Russian. He preferred simplicity. Perhaps he  
should seriously consider immigrating--America.

There was a land--simple, direct people, uncomplicated rules, no monarchy...no defense against  
someone like himself. He smiled into his glass and nearly missed the signal Felix gave Irina. He  
scolded himself for being so unobservant and rose with Irina to leave the room.

He bent to Felix and spoke into his ear. "Calm yourself. It's just a matter of waiting for him to  
die--let the poison do it's work." _You gave him enough_. He thrust his tongue into Felix's ear  
before he pulled back and smirked at the shudder that went through him. He was going to miss  
that, he thought. So malleable, so defenseless.

Kirill was becoming bored waiting for his part in the affair. He slumped in the overstuffed chair by  
the fire, staring at the rug there. He could still see some spots of blood sunk into the fibers. He  
hoped that tonight Alexei would allow him in the bed again. Last night, he slept alone; Alexei sat  
up all night with the Prince, preparing for this evening. He sighed, wishing Alexei was there and  
the door opened and Alexei entered. The others waiting with him rushed up to Alexei, peppering  
him with questions.

"Felix will come when it's over, in the mean time, help yourself, to the brandy, the wine." He came  
to stand by Kirill, stroked his hair and murmured words of encouragement and Kirill's eyes rolled  
shut, he leaned against the hand closing round the back of his neck and groaned. Heat flooded  
his limbs and he felt himself stir. Always when he touched him...

Moments later the door flew open and Felix swayed in the open doorway, white and shaking--  
"He won't die! All that poison--the tea, the wine...he ate all the cake!"

Kirill struggled to hold in his laughter, and Alexei scowled at him before pulling his revolver out of  
its holster. He pressed the revolver in Felix's hand. "Here. Shoot him. Should have done so in the  
beginning. Go. This time he'll die."

A little time passed before they heard a shot.

Alexei motioned for the party to go and they filed out like naughty schoolboys under his cold eye.

From the dining room, they could hear a keening noise, rising and falling mindlessly and in their  
haste to enter the room one of the party knocked the light switch off.

The flames dancing in the fireplace gave the room a hellish glow, the shadows leaped and  
twisted on the walls, and lit the figure of Rasputin curled in agony on a white bearskin, turned the  
blood splashed on it black. Alexei turned the switch back on with a snarl at the huddled party of  
terrified conspirators, and light flared, turning the blood a shocking scarlet against the white. Felix  
bent over the now silent figure, and shook his shoulder lightly.  
"Is--is he dead?" someone whispered.

"Felix--Felix," Rasputin cried out as he rose from the rug like a gargoyle from hell, blood making  
his face a grisly mask, his mouth open and "Felix!" He screamed into the Prince's face.

Felix shrieked and dashed through the group--ran wildly out to the courtyard, Rasputin on his  
heels and blood streaming from a wound in his chest.

The conspirators scattered in fear, and only Alexei and Kirill went out after the two.

Felix was plastered against the court yard wall, his face frozen in horror, shaking and moaning  
and the Monk ran on to the gate, crying out," I'll tell her, Felix, I'll tell all to the Czarina! All!"

Flakes of snow splattered against Kirill's face and he winced slightly, but Alexei took no notice of  
them, he settled himself, pulled a gun from his tunic and sighted the running man. He shot, and  
the man spun, he shot again, and he dropped to his knees. One more shot and he fell to his face.

A trail of bloody footsteps traced Rasputin's flight to the gate. A pool of red surrounded his fallen  
form. Silence.

Kirill looked back at Alexei, his coat was open-- wind billowing it against his legs. He held the gun  
at his hip, and tilted his head, a frown of concentration--displeasure-- on his face. "Bad shots."  
He jerked his head at Kirill. "Check for me, little thing."

Kirill raised an eyebrow. He walked out to the man stretched out in steaming snow--and he  
groaned and rolled to his back. Behind him he could hear Alexei yell, "Shit! What does it take!"  
Kirill looked at Alexei's furious face, looked down in Rasputin's face, twisted in agony, shrugged,  
bent over and drove his finger into the man's forehead.

The crack of bone was loud in the snow muffled air, and for a minute there was no sound at all  
and he could hear the blood splashing up against his face. Warmth laced his chin and cheek and  
he drew back, wiping his hand on Rasputin's coat. He stared into Alexei's eyes. "Dead now."

Alexei grinned at him, a wolfs grin, and it seemed to Kirill his eyes caught and reflected the  
moonlight. So beautiful, he vibrated with life with power.

Kirill waited on his knees for Alexei to come to him and bowed his head.

"You've done well. Put him in the trunk now, little one. I'll drive, and we can finish this thing, yes."  
He bent down and kissed Kirill, heedless of the blood. He kissed him deeply, licking his lips and  
sliding his tongue across Kirill's chin--"Go."

They dragged the body out of the trunk, and Kirill walked across the thick ice of the river with the  
corpse slung over his shoulder, carrying him with ease. He knelt and punched a hole through the  
ice, and shoved the body in.

"Good riddance--you were a nasty thing. Enjoy hell, if there is such a place," he stood. "And if  
there is" he muttered, "Warn the Devil about me."

In the madness that followed, Kirill and Alexei had no time to be alone, and in fact, Alexei sent  
Kirill to stay at a hotel, "Until everything settles, it's best for you to be away. I'll send for you as  
soon as it's possible."

That had been two days, and Kirill ached to be with him. It hurt so much that he couldn't lie down,  
couldn't sleep. He spent hours walking the floor, pacing and vibrating inside, like a live thing  
inside him wanted to burst from its cage of bone. He threw himself onto the sofa and pushed  
down into the pillows. He needed sleep, he needed Alexei--the burn drove him upright again.

It truly was a physical pain, a burning ache under his breastbone--he wanted Alexei. He wanted  
him so desperately it choked him. He moaned low in his chest and undid his trousers and  
touched himself. He ran his fingers over his hard, hot flesh and sighed quietly. He wanted Alexei  
looking at him, watching him.

The thought made his hips lift; he groaned and thrust up into his hand. He pulled his hand up and  
twisted it around the head of his cock and pictured Alexei telling him what to do, how to stroke  
himself, telling him to hold and squeeze his balls, there like that, and under, slide your finger in,  
can you do that? Kirill lifted himself, pushed a finger into the warm grasping ring of muscle and  
drove it upward, searching, searching--ah! There--there--his hand was a blur over his cock and  
he fucked himself frantically.

He called out for Alexei, coming in waves over his pumping fist, coming so hard he trapped his  
finger inside himself and felt the spasms as come spewed from his lashing cock. When he could  
move again he sobbed steadily and quietly and wiped his hand on his undershirt, curled in on  
himself in the sofa and rocked back and forth. _Ah--Alexei. Please, please come for me_ , he  
prayed. _Please come for me soon_

There was a knock at the door and he jerked awake. For a moment his spirit took flight until he  
realized Alexei wouldn't knock. He opened the door and received a message from the hotel  
employee.

He closed the door and lifted the envelope to his nose in shaking fingers. He inhaled deeply the  
scent of Alexei permeating the envelope, the paper inside. His hand had touched it and now it  
was breathing life into him again.  
He opened it, scanned the single line on it--and joy made his head swim.

*Come to our room now.  
A*.

Kirill opened the door to their apartments. The room was ablaze with the golden glow of candles;  
candles flickered on every surface, the scent of roses and tobacco perfumed the air, the scent of  
Alexei--as it should - filled the air. The candlelight reflected in the mirrors and danced over every  
reflective surface. Kirill smiled, he loved the electric lights but candle light was what he knew best,  
made him most comfortable--and He'd acknowledged that and created this beauty for him.

The flames in the fireplace were low and lit the figure of Alexei, made a miracle of him, he stood  
with one arm on the mantel and his fur lined robe draped over him like a cape and nothing else  
hiding his skin, his skin--

he needed to touch it, slide his fingers over it, and taste it. He sank on his knees in front of Alexei,  
and kissed his rapidly swelling cock. He held his hips and kissed from the ripe full head to the  
smooth base, up the small swell of his belly, hard muscle and skin like satin shifting over it with  
every roll of his hips. Kirill opened his mouth and Alexei slid his cock in, and in, and in until Kirill  
lips were pressed against his taut belly, he thrust once, twice and groaned and came deep in  
Kirill's mouth, come shooting down his throat so swiftly he fought to swallow, and Alexei hissed  
and shuddered with each desperate gulp.

He leaned on Kirill's shoulders as the boy let his soft cock slip from his lips.

"I--I have something to tell you." Alexei gasped. Kirill looked up into His face, his beautiful face.

"Stand up," Alexei coaxed him to his feet with gentle hands and held his face with just the tips of  
his warm fingers like it was the thinnest most fragile porcelain, and kissed him so tenderly, so  
sweetly, it filled his soul

"Kirill. Kirill. Love, love..." He petted Kirill's face, his shoulders, and looked into his eyes. Kirill's  
heart beat harder--Alexei's eye's shimmered, full with the weight of the love, reflecting the love  
Kirill felt-

"I was wrong in how I treated you." He stilled Kirill's protests with his fingers on his lips.

"I love you, I love you beyond all things my darling one--I can't live without you, I know this  
now--you are everything to me! My heart is empty unless you fill it." Tears spilled from his eyes,  
and his voice shook. "I was alone, alone, never having knowledge of this feeling," he touched an  
elegant hand to his breast and Kirill lay his over it, tears on his own cheeks. "And now that I have  
it, I can never, never let it go."

Kirill felt joy so intense it could be pain--it filled him and made him human, he was sure of it.  
He wanted him--Alexei accepted him, the god finally accepted his sacrifice. All the blood, all the  
pain he'd given was rewarded here, in this room by Him. His master.

He held Alexei's hand to his lips and pressed kisses on the tender flesh. "Master. Anything for  
you." _Anything for you, my love_.

"Yes," Alexei said calmly. "You did say something like that once, didn't you?" Kirill looked up at  
him, and Alexei was smiling. The look--

Kirill heard clapping and in the bedroom doorway was the woman from the caf.

"Oh, excellent Alexei. What fun! Look how he holds your hand, so sweet! And he's crying...you  
were right, he is amusing. How delightful!"

Alexei pulled his hand from Kirill's ice-cold grip and moved to stand by the fire again.

"I know", he laughed. "Look--" he wiped his cheek and held his hand out to her--"Real tears. I  
made my self cry-- I had no idea I could be that convincing."

She laughed and clapped again as he repeated in a mocking tone, "My heart is empty unless you  
fill it." He mimed at wiping tears from his cheek, and sneered "God, what tripe!"

He affected a look of surprise as he looked at Kirill. "Why are you still here? I'll call for you in the  
morning. You can sleep in the garage tonight. I'm sure you'll enjoy that."

Kirill backed up, slowly moving backward until he stumbled against the door. He couldn't take his  
eyes from Alexei. His ears were filled with the roaring sound of his blood rushing and pounding in  
his veins and a strange feeling swept through him, as though he were holding snow in his hand,  
but more intense, more--painful than he'd ever experienced...it made his teeth chatter, and he  
ground them together to stop doing so, to keep his lips from trembling with the movement.

He reached behind himself and unlatched the door. The trembling spread to every part of him, his  
hand slipped off the doorknob again and again. A sound fought its way out of his throat, ripping  
as it went, and died before his mouth opened and for that he was grateful.

He'd already cried in front of him and he'd die before he mourned aloud in front of him. He fell  
backward out the door and Alexei's eyes were still on him, a triumphant sneer on his lips. Kirill  
dropped his head and turned, he couldn't stand to see the contempt any more.

He didn't want to harm him, he - he needed to be far away. He'd failed. He didn't make Him  
happy, it wasn't enough. He'd reached above himself. But no matter. He knew where he  
belonged. Finally. He knew in every fiber of his being, with clarity that gave him relief and almost  
made him smile, he knew he had a place.

The door shut, and Alexei smiled. That had gone even better than he dreamed it would. And the  
feeling --so delicious. A shudder swept him from head to toe, and he clenched his hands tight,  
nails cutting into his palms with the force. It was good, it felt...wonderful, it felt like victory--it felt  
like a clean kill.

She called to him from the bedroom and his hands flew open, his fingers curled in to scrape up  
his bare thighs, leaving raised pink trails.

"Alexei, darling, don't make me wait. I don't like waiting, you know how I hate it. I' m sure you  
don't mean to make me impatient. I' m sure you don't want to anger me.... "

"Oh no my pet," he replied, "I'd never want to anger you. I know how you hate to wait, sweetling. I  
won't make you wait any more. Your Alexei is coming."

He dropped the robe from his shoulders and shuddered. When did it get so damn cold in  
here...America. The thought sprang into his mind unbidden and startled him. A clear picture of  
himself at the railing of a great ship, wind sweeping over the prow, pulling at him, chilling him--  
and a huge and rather unattractive statue of a woman growing larger on the horizon-- formed in  
his mind. It made the ice recede a bit.

America. He smiled and paused on his way to the bedroom, and as always first caressed and  
then slowly opened the carved wooden box on a table by the door. He pressed a delicate wooden  
rose and a clever drawer popped open. Inside was nestled the velvet bundle that contained his  
favorites. He slipped one of the softly glowing blades free of the bundle just as she called him  
again, her voice full of petulance. He ran a finger softly along the edge and gasped quietly as a  
hair thin red line opened on the pad, he raised the blade to his lips, kissed the flat of it with as  
much fervor as he kissed his boy's cock, closed his eyes and touched the tip of his tongue to the  
surface, as smooth and warm as flesh.

The ice flowed out of his limbs and he saw his beautiful boy next to him, his eyes bright green  
and sparkling as they had been that day he played with his cigarette case, his hair blown by the  
wind, his cheeks as red as his lips and he was laughing, laughing...

Alexei opened his eyes and caressed the blade a final time, smiling, unaware that tears dropped  
onto the velvet.

He went into the bedroom, and called her name softly.

* * *

In the morning he threw what he'd need, what Kirill would need, into a bag. He looked around the  
apartment and thought how much his life had changed in a few short months...he loved this  
apartment but he left it gladly.

He was going to live fully his new life, his real life, the one that started the moment he met his  
beautiful creature, his boy. He felt a brief stab of pain remembering what he'd done the last night,  
how the act designed to cut the weakness from his soul nearly wrenched his soul from him  
instead.  
If this was weakness, he vowed to make it work in his favor--and somehow, he doubted loving  
some one like Kirill could be a weakness-- He understood him like no human ever could.  
Between the two of them they became one stronger being, a nearly invincible being. What they  
could do together, what they could create.  
The world waited for them, the universe held it's breath, and if it had sense it was trembling in  
fear...

He took one more look around the apartment. It was going to hurt to leave his beloved books  
behind. He regretted the necessity --ah well, she could have them, she could have everything.  
He walked into the bedroom for the last time, and looked down on the bed.

"Oh dear. I don't think you're going to be interested in what I have to offer you. Ah well, you  
afforded me some very pleasurable moments. And to think I wasted precious hours trying to have  
conversation with you, when your strength lay in bleeding."

He walked around the side of the bed, critically examining the bound and slowly cooling form on  
the bed. He had to admit, the gag fashioned from a strip of Kirill' s undergarments was a nice  
touch, rather...poetic. It'd made her smell...almost good. He could smell it over the odor of blood  
and shit even now, he mused.

There was something about each other's scent-- the taste of each other's come--it bound them  
together, he realized. The first taste of Kirill had been the catalyst but it had only bound him, not  
Felix or other's who'd been with him, not even that stable boy, the beautiful one...

They were bound together, forever? Why? How? Could he bond with anyone else, he wondered,  
no one else spoke of the feeling the boy's come created, the joy of filling his mouth with it--the  
bliss the taste brought him -

He shivered in remembered pleasure and bent to look closely at a swirl carved into a still plump  
and rosy cheek. Very nice--it complimented the curve of her cheekbone, not that she'd  
appreciated it.

He rolled her head to one side, the blood there already tacky and making her hair adhere to the  
soaked sheets. He'd be sure to describe it to Kirill when he apologized to him, he thought and  
picked up the bottle of rose scented oil tucked behind the bed pillows.

He left the bedroom and stopped at the little table that held the beautiful carved box, and  
considered, and added it to the bag. He locked the doors without a backward look. It was time to  
collect his boy.

Alexei watched the driver from the open doorway of the garage. He was bent over the hood and  
completely absorbed in what he was doing. Alexei ghosted up behind him and spoke quietly.

"Where is he?"

The driver screamed and had sense enough to try to bolt forward, away from the voice of his  
nightmares, but Alexei's hand reached out and twisted in his collar in a death grip. He flipped the  
man around so that he was pinned and bent backward over the engine.

"Where is he?" Alexei leaned forward and locked eyes with him; a small smile on his lips and the  
driver began to sweat. "You remember the fun we had, we can have that again...."

The driver's leg twitched in a spasm of recalled pain- the knife sinking in like a spear of ice,  
digging through muscle..."Who--he--he's not here! I haven't seen him!"

He tried to shrink down inside his jacket, and Alexei grinned and tightened his grip on the jacket  
collar until he was red and gasping for air.

"Tell me the truth," Alexei growled and the driver began to cry. "He's not here--haven't seen himswear,  
swear!" he gasped.

"God damn it!" Alexei let the man drop and walked back toward the palace. He's not here, he  
thought. Fine. He has nowhere else to go, no one to go to-- Alexei stopped. No--no he wouldn't.  
Damn.

Alexei tried to calculate how many days it would take to return they way they came by foot--and  
then figure how long it would take a being like Kirill. He stopped and drew a long breath and  
slowly exhaled, hands on his hips. Well then, this was a change in plans. He was going to have to  
do a little cleaning--

* * *

Curiosity made Alexei stop in Felix's rooms before going to his own, and as he expected, Dmitri  
was with him.

Felix was the color of milk, and looked as though he were about to fly into a million pieces. He  
paced nonstop and Dmitri followed him like a chick after the hen. Idiots, falling to pieces, he  
thought. No heart as well as no brains, he smirked, until Felix spoke.

"You know I'm under arrest? Dmitri and I? They're coming to get us, Uncle and Aunt--"

Alexei cursed to himself. Already? He thought they'd have at least another day before action was  
taken. Damn. He already regretted the impulse that made him stop here--at least he knew he  
hadn't time for 'cleaning'. Shit, shit... he had no one to blame but himself, he wasted time  
punishing her when he should have taken Kirill and himself out of the country. This is what  
happens when you don't keep discipline, he thought.

Felix was going on and on about the fucking destiny of Russia and patriotism and just begging to  
be slapped into silence. Enough-- Alexei snarled and turned to leave.

"What will happen to us Alexei, what will happen?" Felix cried out, shaking like a leaf.

Alexei shrugged and looked bored. "To you and your Duke? I don't know and truth I don't care.  
I'm sick to death of the both of you. I'm bored by your games and bored by your lives. It's simply  
not worth it any more--You want to know what's going to happen? I'll tell you--you're going to  
hell and not soon enough as far as I'm concerned.  
Fuck you both"

"You--you--whore! You stinking bastard whore," Felix hissed, shaking in rage now as well as  
fear." You ungrateful bastard, who brought you here? Where would you be without me? Still on  
your knees in the barracks, you disgusting slut!"

Alexei laughed lightly as if he'd been told an amusing story, "My life didn't bother you, my Prince,  
when my cock was in your ass, and you were screaming for it, did it? And as far as gratitude  
goes," he whispered, "Shall I show it by demonstrating other skills I learned in my very interesting  
life?"

He stared into Felix's eyes and let everything he kept hidden by habit fill his own ice blue eyes,  
and Felix paled and stepped back, bumping into Dmitri.  
Dmitri leaned into Felix and put his arms around him, and hissed at Alexei.

"Don't threaten us, trash, unless you want to lose everything you have--you're not pretty enough  
to fuck your way up through the ranks anymore, 'Lexei."

He tightened his grip around Felix, and murmured into his throat, "Don't worry about him--he'll  
learn humility soon enough. I'll protect you, all you need is me--"

Felix pushed Dmitri away violently, whirled and slapped him hard enough to rock his head back.  
"Leave me alone! Do something useful, you ass! Go get Irina- I want Irina. She'll know what to do.  
She'll make me feel better..."

"But, but I," the Duke began and Felix shoved him away again, shouting as Dmitri staggered  
backwards.

"Do as I say! Get the Princess!"

Alexei raised an eyebrow. It was almost worth losing time to see this little drama played out. So.  
Dmitri didn't hold the leash after all? Or perhaps not as tightly as he'd thought.....

The Duke passed him, his cheek stained with a bright red handprint and Alexei grinned at him  
and blocked his exit with an arm across the doorway, expecting to see fury and prepared to spar  
with the man. He was startled into dropping his arm when he saw tears in the young man's eyes.  
Ah.

Dmitri tried to snarl and shoved past him roughly as he left the room. He watched him leave. Poor  
idiot. Joining Alexei in his little plot was a big price to pay; one that by the looks of it was not going  
to pay out.

Alexei looked a final time at the Prince, huddled in his robe and rocking back and forth on the  
divan, talking quietly to himself. He smirked.

The Prince would be just fine, that type always came up smelling like roses, no matter the shit  
they swam through. Poor Dmitri on the other hand, was going to suffer, Alexei thought.

Good. It will help him grow, everyone needed some suffering. It was...educational. It certainly  
educated me, he thought as his footsteps rang out in the empty foyer.

He pushed out through the doors and into the blinding winter sun. He stopped to let his eyes  
adjust to the change in light, hand over his gun and alert -ever alert.

He'd come up in this life alone, and done things to get out of the gutter that he'd never regretted.  
He learned at a very tender age there was nothing in this life too vile to be considered or too  
frightening to do. Shit, he spent enough time flat on his face waiting for some pig grunt his way  
through a fuck to know nothing lands on your plate without a price to be paid. He thought of Kirill  
and what it would cost him to be with him. He shrugged his coat closed, shouldered his bag and  
marched down the steps. His hard won life for the possibility of a new life with the boy?

He showed white, white teeth to the world and nodded once briskly.

An equitable price.

Ivan dashed across the yard, crunching over snow-frosted stands of dry brown grass. His breath  
steamed out from his lips and he pulled his coat even tighter. He shuddered a bit. It was early, the  
time of day when the sun's light was bright and gave a promise of warmth and did nothing to  
deliver on that promise. Ivan smiled. A way of life he was quite familiar with thank you.

He ran into the stable and shut the wooden doors behind him. He put coals in the small stove by  
the workbench and put a kettle of water on the top. He pulled out of one pocket a chunk of bread  
he'd taken from the kitchen, and an apple, and out of the other a piece of cheese, and a packet of  
tea.

Ivan gathered the leather that was to be cleaned and prepared to make a morning of it. He didn't  
mind the work and he enjoyed the solitude, most of the time. He worked away until the kettle  
whistled, and by that time the corner of the stable he worked in had begun to warm up and he  
loosen the top button of his shirt.

He'd just prepared his tea, and sat down to drink it and nibble on the bread when a distinctly non-  
horse like sound came from the stall opposite the corner he sat in. He froze and a chill raced  
down his spine. He rose to his feet trembling and eased back the door of the stall in question and  
there was a heap of something there on the floor that shifted and became--Ivan had heard the  
phrase, 'my heart stopped' many times, but this moment was unique, it was a moment in which  
he actually experienced it.

Kirill lifted his head and stared at Ivan, as though he didn't recognize him and Ivan had a second  
in which he was rather angry until sense reclaimed him and he tried to back up. Kirill was on him  
in a moment.

"Where is my Uncle," he asked and Ivan stammered out a reply--"Hunting--" He hated the thin  
reedy sound of his voice, but he was truly terrified.  
Did the master come back to kill him? _did he come back for him_?

"I've had terrible adventures, Ivan, and wonderful adventures, and now it's time for me to come  
back to where I belong." Kirill spoke; staring into the distance and Ivan knew he wasn't there in  
the stall with them at the moment.

He was filthy, his clothing torn and his hair full of dirt. Ice clung in bits to his clothing, but he didn't  
seem to notice. His eyes were wide and vacant, and Ivan wondered what life away from the  
dacha must be like-it must be terrible to do this to _him_.

"I'm back where I belong, Ivan."

Ivan nodded and tried to ease Kirill's grip on his collar somewhat.

"I was an arrogant fool, little Ivan. I thought I owned the world. I thought I was a god. Until I met  
one and found how truly terrible and beautiful a god can be. I'm nothing my little one, nothing."

Ivan closed his eyes and prayed. As soon as the master was done with this game, he expected to  
find himself in a world made of pain. It was a strange game, but he was an inventive man, the  
master.

"Ivan, Ivan, you poor miserable thing--I know because I'm one too. You and I have never had a  
choice in our lives, not like the high and mighty, the graced by God like Boris, or Felix or Alexei.  
What do they know of the bottomless pain of existence? What do they know about giving  
everything including your soul to be shredded and shredded until not even a powder is left?" He  
pressed his face into the join of Ivan's neck and shoulder and let tears flow, "I apologize, I  
apologize! Please tell me you forgive me! Didn't know, I - I--"

Ivan reached a shaky hand up and tentatively pat once at the tangled and dirt filled locks brushing  
his cheeks, what sound dare he make? What was this frightening game he was playing...

Ivan remembered seeing him for the first time, how beautiful he thought he was. Kirill looked like  
a dark angel and he'd been thrilled to be noticed, thrilled to be touched, and the touches had  
slowly become pain and he'd slowly become a slave to it....

Kirill turned into the tiny gesture of comfort with over whelming gratitude. He needed just a little  
kindness now--just one person to show him the compassion he knew he had no right to.  
He was going to give up everything he'd gained; he would try and atone for his hideous crimes--if  
it was possible. He'd offended and sinned and he was ready to pay for the rest of his life if need  
be, and Boris would be the vehicle of that atonement. He could help him to see god again and if  
not, he wasn't worthy and he shook and sobbed and drenched Ivan's shirt. Ivan attempted  
another pat and when he wasn't repulsed he got bolder and murmured soothing words and then  
bravely stroked Krill's back and Kirill cried harder and when Ivan said softly, please don't cry,  
master he wailed like a child. They dropped down onto the straw, and Ivan rocked him till he  
calmed himself.

"Do you hate me Ivan, do you? Kirill wiped at his dirty tear tracked face, and shuddered in the  
after math of violent weeping.

Ivan shrugged and stretched his legs out. "I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid you'll lose control and kill  
me." Ivan spoke in the matter of fact tones of someone who'd contemplated their possible future  
many times and come to accept it as true.

Kirill nodded. "Yes. Are you still afraid?"

Ivan looked at him as if he'd gone insane. "Yes. Why should I not be? You hurt me. You make me  
crawl. Of course I'm afraid of you." Ivan breathed a little heavier as he talked, and moved away  
from Kirill, and Kirill stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You may be afraid of me, but a little of  
yourself, too? That you should want such things?"

Ivan hid his face.

"I know that feeling, I know myself how it feels to want it. Ah, well," he sighed. He stood and held  
his hand out to Ivan. "Help me get clean, Ivan, mine, I'm filthy, and I'm tired of being so."

* * *

Ivan called for a bath in Boris's room; the only one large enough for the big copper tub, and hot  
water was brought. He washed Kirill's back and washed his hair, all in silence. Kirill seemed to be  
in deep thought and Ivan kept his mouth shut and moved slowly, carefully out of habit.

Kirill was out of the tub, and being rubbed dry by Ivan when a commotion broke out in the hall.

Ivan dropped the towel and blanched. "Your Uncle," he whispered, his mouth gone dry with fear.  
Kirill stared back, his mouth partly opened, a questioning look on his face when the door flew  
open. He hurriedly snatched the towel from the floor and wrapped it about his hips.

"What in all hell's are you doing here, you ass?" Boris was furious, so furious spittle flew from his  
lips as he roared at Kirill. "Why are you here--alone! What did you do?" Kirill backed up against  
the onslaught, and Ivan made a small sound of fear.

Boris rounded on him and slapped him to the ground. "What are you doing in my rooms, you?"

Kirill moved forward, angry, _no one did that to his servant, no one punished except him_ and  
Boris casually opened a ring on his hand, Kirill swayed.

"Yes, you young fool, I'm always ready. Though I confess, I thought you'd be with that one or in  
Petersburg with my," He slapped him viciously, "new home."

Kirill dropped and blood flowed from his lip and he bowed his head.

"Oh please," Voronkov sneered. "Humble are we? Lowly creature, monster, you have no idea.  
Ivan, show this thing what you've learned. We need our little toys." Boris smiled as Ivan crawled  
across the room and opened a cabinet there. He pulled out a gently glowing rod of crystal, and  
began to stand, rod in hand and Boris tsked. "No Ivan, not like that," and Ivan put it in his mouth  
and crawled back.

The closer he came, the brighter the glow-- the weaker Kirill felt, and he shivered harder with  
each wave of queasiness.

Ivan reached Boris and knelt in front of him. He hesitated to remove the rod from his mouth and  
Boris nodded and put his hand on it, moved the end back and forth, pushing a little deeper into  
Ivan's mouth each time, until Ivan's eyes were wide and fearful as he struggled to breath around  
the rod, gagging when the unyielding length slipped into his throat, saliva poured out the corners  
of his mouth, wetting his chin and his eyes began to droop closed, Boris pushed the rod in deep  
as possible and Ivan squeezed his eyes shut against tears that wanted to run down his cheeks.

"Uncle, stop," Kirill gasped through the nausea clutching at his throat.

"What, you went away and developed a conscience?" He laughed and pulled back the rod and  
Ivan drew in a long shuddery breath.

"Were you struck like Paul on the road to Damascus? Maybe you want to take this one's place  
or...or mine, perhaps? No, I think you need to take Ivan's. You made some fatal mistake, or you  
would be dead, or in Saint Petersburg, locked up by Alexei. You really need to be punished. Yes  
you do," he crooned while rocking the rod slowly in and out of Ivan's mouth.

Again Kirill begged his Uncle to stop and let the towel fall from his body so that he was nude  
before him. Ivan looked and groaned around the rod, his eyes locked on Kirill's cock, his legs, his  
body. Boris smiled. "Ah, Vanya, sweet, you like that yes, I see you like it. Look, he likes it too,"  
and pointed to Kirill's cock swaying heavier with blood, and Ivan rocked forward and Boris pulled  
the rod out.

"Stand up, you." Ivan rose to his feet and staggered. Kirill reached out and held him upright,  
making Boris laugh. "You --get to your knees," and moved around Kirill's kneeling form when he  
obeyed. He held the rod in front of his face, slick with Ivan's saliva. Kirill groaned -pain twisted his  
gut.

Boris stroked his cheek with it. "You know, I had this made after you were gone. I can't believe it  
never occurred to me to have it made for you. I'd planed to bring it with me to Petersburg, if you  
survived. But Ivan likes it, don't you, Vanya?" Ivan shuddered and Kirill could smell his arousal.  
His own cock sank and rose with each move of the artificial penis down his neck, across his  
chest....

Boris ordered Ivan close to him, handed him the rod. "Fuck him, little boy. Fuck this thing. He  
loves to be hurt. As much as he loved hurting you, did you know that? He'd cry so pretty for me.  
Make him cry for you."

He held the crystal cock in Ivan's hand, helped to guide it into Kirill, who screamed, long tearing  
screams. Ivan shuddered in horror but Boris smacked him hard, snapping his head to the side.

"Do it. Fuck him."

Kirill's head was between his arms, face to the floor and his body poured with sweat.

"Do as he says," he moaned and gasped. "Do as he says." And Ivan pushed it forward, moved  
the rod in and out, and stroked and soothed his quivering muscles with one hand. Blood began  
showing on the rod, and Ivan felt ill, Boris raised his hand and he pushed harder, harder and Kirill  
began to groan, not only in pain. He rocked back to meet the rod, screaming still, groaning,  
screaming, begging Boris, calling for Alexei, begging for forgiveness, and Ivan felt arousal and  
revulsion, the feelings fought to control him.

Boris whispered in Ivan's ear, stopped him with a hand on his. He whispered and mouthed Ivan's  
neck, reached around and unbuttoned his trousers. He slid them free, and took Ivan in his hand,  
Ivan closed his eyes in shame, he was so hard that the touch of Boris's hand made his buck up  
into his grip. Boris laughed and guided Ivan to Kirill's quivering form. "In, Ivan," and Ivan thrust in  
on one long glide.

The heat nearly undid him; he froze, because the slightest movement and he would spend  
himself. He stilled and panted, but Kirill's long low moan tore a gasp out of him, made him pump  
his hips. The master was so hot and slick, so slick, and he tried to block out the thought of blood  
on the green rod. Not just blood, and too hot to be believed. He began shuddering, and he ripped  
his nails down Kirill's back.

"Come, you. Come now," Boris hissed and striped Kirill's face with a slim wand, the green handle  
glowing. "I've made many new toys for you, my dear."

Blood poured from the boy's split cheek and Ivan came at his groan--the smell of blood and  
come drove Kirill over the edge after him. He shook and cried out again and again for Alexei, he  
needed Alexei. Boris switched him. "Quite! You don't need tears! Tears are for men! Beasts don't  
cry!"

Ivan staggered away from Boris and his rage, He feared for the master, he feared for himself. He  
crawled into a space between the wall and the cabinet and cried silently. Listened to the screams,  
the sound of flesh being beaten open and prayed for them all.

* * *

Days may have passed but Kirill could no longer be sure, he had lost all ability to think of anything  
beyond his body. The room was stayed dark at all times, lit only by greasy candles that sputtered  
and flickered and filled the air with the smell of burning fat. Sometimes he wasn't sure if it wasn't  
his flesh he smelt. Boris ripped it open again and again only letting him heal enough to present a  
new surface for him to tear open, he wasn't healing deeply, and too much of his energy was  
going into trying to knit up the half healed wounds. He began to think that Boris actually meant to  
kill him--twice he'd branded him, and the pain had made him pass out, but Boris refused to let  
him stay in that blackness, that comforting little death. He brought him awake and barely let the  
blood cool on his skin before he worked on him again. He fucked him with the burning rod so  
many times he hardly felt it any more, he'd had to suck his cock so many times his jaw was a  
permanent ache, his throat a flaming streak of pain from the rod Boris used when he had no iron  
in his own. He coughed blood nearly constantly now; there just wasn't time enough to heal  
properly.

Boris reached down and pulled his head up by a handful of hair and smiled at him. "Bath time,  
beast. You're beginning to stink. Even Vanya doesn't want to fuck you anymore."

Kirill astounded himself with his depth of concern for Ivan. Perhaps that happened when you  
discovered you have a soul. You developed attachments to others. And Ivan was slowly  
shredding more and more, these things Boris made him do where not in his nature. He snorted  
faintly. He, on the other hand, would have had no problem. He still soothed himself from time to  
time imagining doing some of these things to Boris.

Boris pushed his fingers into his ass and moved them back and forth and it had no more effect on  
him than - being touched with a feather. He had no response left--it had been burned away  
these last days- or hours -or weeks for all he knew. The crystal destroyed it all. In a way he was  
grateful, he could tell Boris used force, his body moved but he felt nothing--nothing--and the  
blackness crept into the corners of his mind like a dear friend bringing peace.

When he was aware again, he was chin deep in hot water and oils, and Ivan washed him gently,  
pouring the scented water over his shoulders, and rubbing at the crusted blood on his skin with a  
flannel. Kirill tried to ask him how long he'd been out, but his throat burned and his voice was  
creaky. Ivan seemed to understand his unspoken question. "You've been out for most of the  
night. Your Uncle slept in another room." He looked at Kirill in awe. "I think...you've mostly  
healed... it's true, you are superhuman--"

"No." Kirill gasped, "less than human--never forget that, less than human. I gave you proof of that  
many times, did I not?"

Ivan snorted faintly, "Than what about your uncle, may he drown forever in a lake of his own shit  
in hell?"

Kirill actually laughed at that and Ivan smiled. "You are getting better."

Kirill stood, water sluicing off of him and raining pink back into the tub. He shone like an angel,  
Ivan thought, the candle light reflecting off the water gave his body the effect of being wreathed in  
a halo.

Kirill stared at Ivan who looked at him with naked awe and desire in his eyes and took his chin in  
his hand and kissed him. Ivan's eyes closed and he whimpered into the kiss.

"Look how I've healed--you've healed me Ivan," He moved his hand onto his stiffening cock and  
bit Ivan's tongue. The young man groaned and slid his hand over the straining flesh, shivered and  
stopped. "I must let Boris Voronkov know you're awake--my orders."

Kirill nodded, of course. There was no other option. It was what was. He sat on the edge of the  
bed and waited for Uncle's return. No doubt he'd be rested and fed and ready to begin the  
exercise anew. His stomach growled startlingly loud, and it-felt as if it were flattened against his  
spine. He wished deeply there were food to be had, he was so hungry. His body had already  
begun to use itself as fuel to power his healing- nourishment had to come from somewhere and  
his body fought to survive. Suddenly Ivan slipped in quickly, silently and passed bread and apples  
and fresh water to him, whispered, "Your Uncle still sleeps, you can eat--but soon he'll wake."

He was gone again before Kirill could speak, to thank him or warn him about Boris' love of  
games...

* * *

Kirill's knees left streaks of blood across the wooden floor, and Boris rutted into him, breathing  
wet air into his ear, telling him how filthy he was, how disgusting, what a horror he was, so  
incapable of being loved, of giving love, unworthy of anyone's love--Kirill cried even as his cock  
draped his legs with precome, the pain lifted his soul higher and higher into an ecstasy that filled  
his body with fire and he gasped Alexei's name over and over. Boris howled and pulled at the thin  
cord wrapped around Kirill's neck, stopping him from speaking Alexei's name, from making any  
sound at all.

His love the Dark rolled in, folding itself gently over his thoughts, making the floor softer and the  
air warmer, it loved him so, it wanted him if no one else did, it made his cock harder, hotter and  
suddenly Alexei was there, bursting through the door. He came for him! He shot Boris and Boris  
ripped out of his body as he fell backward. He felt the warm blood of Boris's heart splash his back  
and it made him tremble and his cock jerk. Alexei slid in, taking Boris place and fucked him, slow  
at first, so slow it made him whimper, and then faster, snapping his hips into him, the slap of wet  
flesh hitting flesh a song, fingers scoring his hips a caress that his body had cried out for.

Fuck me, fuck me he cried and Alexei shouted and trembled and he felt his come burn into him--  
up into him and his cock jerked, spilling on the floor, his knees, his chest, his hands spread on the  
floor before, him--Alexei- Alexei he gasped and--

Pain! His throat was on fire! It burned and burned and his lungs burned and fluttered desperately  
like butterflies pinned to card and light blinded his eyes. The loops Boris had tightened around his  
neck slithered to the blood and come streaked floor.

Boris laughed quietly. "Did you have a good dream little one, it must have been so very good." He  
flicked his tongue across his hand; milky fluid gleamed on his fingers. He wiped them on Kirill's  
face and sneered. "Alexei. Always Alexei. He must have hurt you beyond anything I did, I'm  
jealous, my creature. I don't think I ever caused you so much pain. You cry and it's... different. It's  
so -human. A pain from the heart. I didn't think it was possible that you'd find love again. I  
thought I'd broken that along with the nurse."

A flare of anger ran though Kirill--anguish and rage, Alexei, the nurse, all her tales of love and  
justice and right over might, she'd planted this seed of madness in his head that was destroying  
him now, those lies were killing him and yet he loved her for what she'd given him too, a chance  
at love, of knowing what it was ...even if it rejected him he'd had it, he'd tasted it and smelled it  
and held it however briefly.

He looked up at Boris and spat. "Fuck you."

Bloody spittle ran down Boris' face, he was shocked for a moment and then smiled, a deadly  
slash of a smile that moved his lips up and no more.

"Shall we finish our little game, when you fought for air it tightened certain muscles so  
intoxicatingly--yes, it would be poetic to fuck you to death creature."

He looped the cord around his neck again and tightened and loosened, tightened and loosened  
until every breath was torture in itself, the crystals in the cord sawed at his neck and made his  
skin bleed--he began to pray that his lungs cease their frantic fight.

Ivan was in the doorway looking terrified and Boris let go of Kirill, snatched the whip from a small  
table and stalked towards Ivan. "Vanya, Vanya, such insolence. What gives you license to enter  
my rooms unasked? Didn't we talk--"

"Oh, shut _up_ you pretentious windbag."  
A pop split the air and Boris dropped screaming to the floor, adding his blood to what was  
smeared there.

Alexei walked in around Ivan, his gun raised in his leather-clad hand. "Shut up or the next one  
goes in your eye," he said mildly. "Or your balls," he said with a bit more steel in his words, as he  
looked Kirill over. Looked at his eyes, nearly swollen shut, his lip bisected with a deep seeping  
wound, his cheeks flayed open by stripes of the wand on the floor by Boris.

"Hmmm." He walked around Kirill and took in his come streaked back and the bloody welts,  
crisscrossed on his skin. He nearly winced at the sight of blood and come leaking from Kirill's raw  
hole, his eyes flicking to the crystal cock laying under Kirill, whose head was on the floor and who  
was gasping quietly, murmuring sorry over and over.

"Hush. There'll be time for that later. You," he snapped at Ivan. "Get water and towels and bring  
my bag to this room".

Alexei circled the shuddering form huddled in a miserable knot on the floor. "I'm angry with you,  
my dear boy. You made me leave everything to come for you. Ah well," he shrugged. "A change  
of scenery was in the cards, actually." He re-holstered his pistol and kicked the quietly moaning  
Boris in his exploded knee, wrenching an ear-shattering shriek from him, before dropping down to  
cradle Kirill in his arms, heedless of the blood and other fluids staining his coat sleeves.

"I missed you so I came for you." At his words, Kirill smiled weakly, hopelessly.

Alexei closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He spoke again, loudly, clearly  
and with all the emotion he was capable of. "I love you, so I came for you."

Kirill hissed in shock, his eyes wide with wonder and -fear.

"Did you come to finish what you started in St.Petersburg," he asked, "because I'm ready to die---  
I've been ready for a long time." He closed his eyes against the burning, and Alexei snorted.

"No, I came for you. You're mine and I'm keeping you. And now you'll rest and get better and than  
we decide what's to come, my pet."

He moved away from Kirill, letting him come to rest gently on the floor. He stood again and  
leaned over Boris, "Boris, Boris, Boris, what an idiot you are. Look what you've wasted thinking  
with your cock."

He jabbed Boris in his ruined knee, and all blood drained from his face and he retched violently.  
"A house in Saint Petersburg." _jab_ "you deserve to die" _jab_ "for being so stupid" _jab_ "If  
you'd shown my boy a minute of love" _jab_ "a single kind word"-- and he ground his finger down  
into the wound as Boris screamed like a dying rabbit--"you'd have all of Russia now." He stood  
and watched Boris' chest heave frantically as he fought not to pass out.

"Instead you get to contemplate how nasty your last few hours on this earth are going to be. I've  
come to reclaim what's mine Voronkov. I don't like that you've been playing with it."

He whirled around at a knock, and the door opened. He gestured for the men to enter.

"Food, water, towels, clothing, every thing you asked for sir." Ivan bowed his head and Alexei  
dismissed him.

"Don't go too far, you. I may have a need of you later." Ivan paled and nodded and scrambled to  
withdraw. Alexei smiled, every sharp tooth exposed and Kirill sobbed in gratitude. His god was  
here, here with him. Happiness followed him into the dark.

Alexei was astonished anew at how quickly Kirill recovered from what would have killed an  
ordinary man. Shielded from the effect of the green crystal, having decent food and sunlight  
seemed to speed the process along. In no more than a day, Kirill was once again fit and healthy.

They lay together in Boris' huge carved wood bed, wrapped up in comforters and a huge fur  
blanket. Pillows piled high enveloped them and the sensation of warmth, the softness of the  
pillows cradling Alexei's head was a pleasure he felt bone deep after his frantic flight to reclaim  
and protect his boy. He looked down on the head lying on his chest and smiled. Perhaps one day,  
he'd tell him about his journey back for him. It had been--interesting. Very nostalgic it had been,  
and he wanted Boris to suffer for that too.

Alexei stroked his hair with one hand and tapped the ash from his cigarette into an enameled dish  
at the bedside with the other. He relished the feel of Kirill's steel arms wrapped tenderly around  
him, and he watched Boris shake and groan quietly in the corner with mild interest and exhaled  
slowly. As the smoke snaked it's way into the dark above the bed he considered his next move.  
Soon they would need to be on the move, and he had plans for that. But first, a gift for his boy....  
He shrugged his shoulder to get Kirill's attention.

"What do you want me to do to Boris little one? Or--would you prefer to handle him yourself? It is  
after all your right." He smiled a real smile, even though Kirill could not see it.

Kirill rolled onto his back and pulled the blanket closer around the two of them. "He's not much  
fun now that you've broken his knee." He lifted his head higher to examine the bandages wound  
around Boris' leg, it looked lumpy and white and made Boris' nude form look a little pathetic.

"Ivan does a good job of bandaging doesn't he?" Kirill smiled at Boris and he flinched. Kirill  
laughed and snugged closer to Alexei. "Tell me what to do, how do you want me to do it?"

Alexei grabbed handfuls of Kirill's thick black hair and shook him roughly from side to side, as the  
boy grinned at him. He smiled back--his boy was happy, and he rather enjoyed the feeling that  
gave him. Nothing could hurt his boy unless he wanted it to.

"Ah, it's not for me to tell you how to exact your revenge. Be creative, my beloved one, be  
creative."

Boris shifted in his corner, a moan of fear leaking from his lips, and he scooted deeper into his  
dark corner. The ropes wound tighter around his legs and he began to pray he'd die of blood loss  
before Kirill decided his fate.

On the bed Kirill traced with his tongue a meandering line up Alexei's chest, marveling once again  
at how smooth, how exciting his hairless body was. He bent and licked around his nipples,  
teasing them a bit until Alexei sighed and seemed to melt under his mouth. It was thrilling to feel  
him loosen like that, Kirill thought. It filled him with a sense of power, and made his blood flow hot.  
It was second nature for Alexei to be prepared for anything at all times and he was always tight  
as a wire, sharp as a knife, always seeking, measuring--but here in this bed...Kirill smiled and bit  
down on the little patch of skin he'd been teasing and Alexei hissed and jerked, sighed again in  
pleasure. Kirill licked at the reddened flesh and considered his next move.

Boris, Boris Mikhailov Voronkov. The force that drove his life, shaped his world. Everything he  
was he owed to Boris, and his whole life he'd dreamed of nothing more than killing him. Wanted  
to smash his bones to powder and tear him into scraps and scatter the pieces into the wind. He  
felt a wave of delicious warmth sweep him imagining Boris' screams--that would be a very fine  
thing.

He leaped from the bed and strode past Boris who flinched violently and scrabbled back from  
Kirill as far as the rope would let him. He pulled open the door and called for Ivan, and looked  
down in surprise at the startled little snort at his feet. Ivan lifted his head from his mat on the floor,  
focused blearily on Kirill, and immediately tried to scramble to his feet.

"Oh--sorry, master, sorry...I didn't hear you coming to the door." Kirill looped his arm about  
Ivan's neck and pulled him into his heat. The boy shivered and instinctively sought his warmth  
and at the same time cringed in reflex to Kirill's touch.

"Don't be afraid, Vanya. Come in, I want to ask you something." He smiled down into Ivan's face  
and watched him flush and pale at the same time, his laughter rang out and he heard an inquiring  
noise from Alexei.

He walked Ivan toward the bed; he could feel Ivan's reluctance, the boy dragged his feet slightly  
but dared not stop. Not with his master's arm looped about his throat.

Alexei smirked at him and Kirill's heart beat faster. Lying against the white, white sheets; framed  
by the heap of pillows piled against the black wooden headboard of the bed he looked like rose  
marble and carved ivory, as beautiful and soul shaking as he had looked in the dining car that  
night. Tears filled his eyes and the room wavered, the golden glow of the candles burning at  
either side of the bed reminded him of the time in the guest bedroom, where he'd watched Felix  
and entered a fairy tale world. He'd had no idea how much his life would be changed--had no  
idea he'd be claimed and made a part of the world.

Alexei stretched lazily and Kirill could hear the sound of his skin being caressed by the fibers of  
the linens, the sound of skin moving against skin. He closed his eyes, crossed his arms around  
Ivan and leaned his chin on his head, concentrated and he could hear the fast rabbit like beat of  
little Ivan's heart, and the steady thump of Alexei's, he sank deeper and listened to the thick  
swish of Alexei's blood in his veins. That sound that he loved, it was the sound of his safe harbor.  
He sighed and released Ivan, who staggered back against him and breathed a small moan. Kirill  
realized then that he was hard, achingly hard and had been grinding against Ivan. His hand slid  
around and cupped Ivan. Alexei grinned when the boy arched against Kirill and tried to press his  
hardness against his hand He motioned them closer as he sat up and pulled the comforter down.

"Join us, little one. It's chilly tonight, you should not be alone on the tiles," He looked over into the  
corner where Boris huddled on the freezing floorboards. "Wouldn't you agree, my friend?" He  
grinned when he got no response, and waved a hand at Ivan. "Strip, please."

Kirill sat on the floor and tilted his face up to watch as Ivan tremblingly removed each article of  
clothing at Alexei's direction letting each piece drop to the floor. Kirill felt his cock throb as he  
watched the terror-stricken young man undress himself. Ah, he saw, afraid he may be but -Ivan's  
cock swung heavy between his legs and Kirill looked over to Alexei. He saw that he was also  
beginning to stir, watched his cock fill and move across his leg

Ah! He wanted to touch him, smell him, and be filled with him. "Come to bed my lovely," Alexei  
spoke and his voice curled in Kirill's gut, "Come to bed- and bring your pretty pet."

* * *

Pinned between the two of them Ivan closed his eyes and ...waited. His head swam with the  
heat, and the unaccustomed luxury of the sheets, smooth as snow, the soft weight of the down  
comforter touching every part of his bare skin that wasn't being touched by the bodies of the other  
two men. A hot, hot hand slid across his ribs and the master's voice was in his ear. "Ivan--what  
do you want me to do with Boris, what should I do, little one?"

Ivan shivered at the damp warmth caressing his ear, the tongue slipping in and out painting  
streaks of lust through him, but he spoke firmly, if quietly, "Kill him. Kill him." He gasped when  
Alexei took him in hand, stroking his cock. He squeezed his eyes tight and whimpered.

Alexei rolled over to rest his body on Ivan's and slid against his trembling form. "Ivan, if you're  
afraid, which is sensible, you may now relax yourself. I can't hurt you.  
Not now."

Ivan opened his eyes a little, found himself staring into winter gray eyes, and a wolf's smile. "I  
think only one person in this room need fear for their miserable stinking lives."

Alexei turned his head to look at Boris who struggled to his feet, scrabbling at the wall, his eyes  
wide in fear and the sneer stripped from his lip. Ivan felt great satisfaction at that, and a little  
groan eased out of his lips as Alexei slid his cock against his again, and Kirill's warm hands  
stroked his back and worked slowly downward.

It was luxury and sensation he'd never felt before. He'd learned to transmute pain into caress like  
an alchemist, but against this submersion into sensuality he had no defense, no training in  
receiving it. He gasped and groaned and shook and begged Kirill's forgiveness for each cry of  
ecstasy and in the corner Boris wept from anger and fear.

Alexei snapped his head up and growled at Kirill over Ivan's quivering shoulder. "Do something  
about him, before I do--he's beginning to grate on my nerves."

Kirill smiled lazily at him and licked a broad stripe over Ivan's shoulder and pulled his hand free  
from his quaking body. "All right. I'll do something now."

He rolled from the bed and walked over to the corner. Boris tried to crawl up the wall, moaning  
non-stop and Kirill knew he wasn't even aware he was making the noise. He remembered doing  
that when he was a boy and still had some hope someone would help him, a hero, praying that a  
prince would come to save him. He grinned. Perhaps a prince did save him.  
He reached out and snapped Boris' wrist.

The man screamed and Kirill looked to the bed in apology, but Alexei sat up with Ivan in his lap  
and smiled back. "Go on dear one. Continue as you will."

Kirill took the ropes and retied them so that Boris hung from a bolt in the ceiling like a butchered  
pig, swinging slightly as Kirill prodded him. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Here the monster  
of his infant dreams hung, exactly as he himself had hung so many times. The tears ran down the  
devil's pale face, like they had run down his own so many times before he finally gave everything  
to Boris.

He took Boris' hand in his and asked him if he remembered the first time he'd taken him.

"You pushed me down on my face, ground my head in the pillow and fucked me like I was a  
doll--do you remember? All that blood... and then you wore your glove, and broke my fingers  
one by one...I'll spare you that, Boris," and the man sagged a bit in the ropes and sobbed in  
relief.

"No, I won't do that to you, not one by one," he said and crushed his fingers together in his iron  
grip. Boris' scream rose to a shriek before he sagged in the ropes.

Kirill looked at him in disgust. "Tsk. This is going to go very slowly if he's going to leave us like  
this." He smacked Boris' face but got no response. He frowned and shook him, stopped when  
Ivan's voice registered.

"Spirits of ammonia are in the cabinet. I could get them for you..." Alexei lifted him up with a  
smack on his buttocks. "Help your master, lazy boy."

Ivan ran to the armoire and motioned for Kirill to move back. He swiftly removed a stoppered  
bottle, hesitated and removed a plain wood case. He closed the lead lined doors on the crystalstudded  
devices inside.

He padded silently, gracefully across the floor and laid the box at Kirill's feet. "You may be  
interested in these, master, I think." He handed the little stoppered, cut glass bottle to Kirill and  
imitated a smile. "He used this on me a few times. It should convince him to join us in this world  
again."

"At least for a little while, until I send him forever to hell." Kirill covered the boy's hand and kissed  
him slowly and deeply, enjoying Ivan's instant and total surrender to him. He backed away from  
him, sent him back to climb into bed with Alexei.

A pass of the bottle under Boris' nose brought him sputtering back to consciousness, and Kirill  
patted his arm." feeling better?" he asked and squeezed. The bones of Boris's arm gave with a  
wet crunch, he screamed and jerked in the ropes as the sharp pearly ends of the bone pierced  
his flesh from inside, and hung gasping, terror making him fight to stay aware.

"Ah, yes. I remember that feeling, what you're experiencing now. It passes Uncle, it does. But for  
you," he mused, "I suppose the passing of the pain will be the end of all sensation." Kirill said and  
circled him.

"Let me tell you a story, I think you have time for a story." The leaping, stuttering candlelight  
made Boris features dance in and out of shadow and only the wet gleaming of his eyes in the  
shadowy corner let him know Boris was alive--aware.

"Once upon a time," and he shook a shard that poked through Boris' skin to make certain all his  
attention was on him--

"A -a-- thing was left, maybe by it's parents, to die in the forest. An evil magician found the thing  
and for reasons known only to himself raised the creature, and punished him everyday for the  
crime of being not-human. And every night the thing healed so it could happen again. Every night  
for years until one day the thing found out he was not a monster after all. He was not a prince--  
but he was worthy of princes." He shook the shard again and waited till Boris ceased screaming,  
and continued, "Why do you think the magician tortured the thing? Was it because he was afraid  
he was really the monster?"

Kirill reached out and pressed a thumb against Boris' cheekbone until it buckled. "Tears don't  
help, do they? Screaming doesn't help. Learn to love it in the time you have, Boris--- that helps."

He turned to Ivan. "What did you bring me Vanya? What does the box hold?"  
Ivan ran to crouch at Kirill's feet, opened and removed a slim blade from the box. He held it out to  
Kirill, and the edge caught the light and blazed. Alexei let out an appreciative murmur of sound,  
and shifted on the sheets.

"You are a creative person, Uncle, let me show you what I've learned."

Boris learned that the way to peel something was to take long thin strips with a very sharp blade  
and a steady hand.

Ivan sat at Kirill's feet and watched him flay Boris with an impassive face. He stroked Kirill's legs  
and pressed kisses to his very hot skin. Occasionally he heard murmured encouragement from  
Alexei, and Boris's screams quickly gave way to frantic panting--too much energy was required  
for him to scream now, and every breath was a gift not to be squandered.

Kirill stepped away from the man and watched his skin shiver as though it were trying to crawl off  
his bones. He was covered in a thin film of Boris's blood, and smiled as a childhood memory  
flashed quickly through his mind, a beating received for bloodying a shirt, a beating that went on  
until he'd lost consciousness and woke to find himself curled in a corner and his skin pink all over  
with his own blood. Pink again, he thought, and admired the sheen of blood on his arm, as he  
twisted it and watched the play of light on the blood--rose, than black than pink than brown, a  
symphony of colors.

Ivan still sat at his feet, and he rubbed his bloodied hands over Ivan's insistent ones, Ivan's hands  
were in his groin, fingers running through the curls nestled around his cock, and tracing the length  
as he rubbed his mouth against his thigh. His cock jerked awake under the caress and Boris  
watched horrified as Ivan engulfed the blood-streaked shaft. Kirill flung his head back and  
groaned at the heat around him.

Alexei moved off the bed to stand behind him. The smell tantalized his nose and made his mouth  
water-- the scent of Alexei, Alexei, Alexei--He smelled roses and felt a warm oil slick finger push  
slowly into him. His cock swelled even more as the pressure inside grew greater. Ivan moaned  
and tried to get more into his mouth and Kirill rocked back and forth, speared on the pleasure of  
Alexei behind him and Ivan in front of him.

Alexei whispered into his ear, "Now-- the time grows short, little one. Now is the time to finish the  
story."

He held Kirill and fucked him slowly with his finger as he bit along his shoulder, up to his ear  
again and he whispered to him, "The monster found it was not--it was a miraculous creature--a  
Fire Bird, and after dying over and over and raising from it's own ashes again and again, it finally  
earned it's reward." Kirill sighed, a long deep contented sigh. Alexei pushed in deep and reached  
a spot that made Kirill strain against him and cry out. "And it rode out of hell on the back of a wolf,  
and together they ate the bones of the magician, and were forever united by that act."

When he stopped speaking Kirill yelled out and thrust down Ivan's throat. "Forever!" He plunged  
in and out wildly for a second, the boy rocked back and forth and struggled to contain the leaping  
cock.

Boris raised his bloody face to him and croaked out, "Kill me--kill me now, I beg you."

Kirill pushed Ivan from his throbbing cock and gasped when he released him, "Give me the blade  
again, Vanya...wait--give me the long one."

Boris tried to jerk away but Alexei had moved away from Kirill, and now stood behind him, only  
his hands clasped about Boris' wrists were visible in the dark, ivory bands clamped down and  
holding Boris still.

The long silver blade seemed to slide into Boris' flesh like a hot knife into butter, only Kirill heard  
the flesh pop, and rip raggedly, only he heard the blood spatter against the floor, the sound was  
hidden from the others by Boris' shrill scream. Kirill reached up and grabbed Boris' jaw, forced  
him to meet his green eyes. The moment Boris met his eyes, they widened and he began to  
scream and beg again--breath was useless now, he was going to die, die, horribly--

"You remember," he husked, "Good." And he slid his cock into the hot wet slash in Boris side,  
pushed hard and listened to the tearing of his flesh--pumped hard and growled as flesh pulped  
and bones splintered and Ivan at his feet was splashed by blood and didn't move and Kirill  
approved--Alexei growled louder and louder as he pushed deeper into the wound, Boris still  
jerked and coughed blood, tried to speak.

"I never forgot--never forgot--you killed me and made me live again--you fucked my chest, my  
heart and still I lived-- I lived, I lived, I lived!" He thrust hard with each exclamation, and even Ivan  
heard the crack as ribs gave out and shattered, and Boris dropped in the ropes and hung like  
rotten fruit.

Alexei loosed the ropes and he dropped to the floor, no longer looked like a human being. Kirill  
grasped himself, jerked harder and harder and lightning ripped down his spine and exploded in  
his gut and he keened, howled like a wolf as his climax burst from him like liquid fire and he  
painted Boris with pearly ropes and snarled in victory. One eye rolled slowly in the ruin of Boris'  
face and then dulled as death drank his last breath.

Alexei stared at Kirill. He looked as inhuman as Boris, streaked with blood and gore, come on his  
thighs and a wild look in his eyes. His teeth were bared, so sharp and white they shone in the  
black blood painting his face.

Alexei had heard the bones cracking and the flesh giving as he'd fucked Boris and here was  
graphic proof that without the crystal, Kirill could kill him like a louse, snuff out his life as easily as  
he popped a flea between his fingers. He shook from head to toe and a strangled gasp escaped  
him. He'd fucked that wild creature, beat him and whipped him and fucked him--and still he had  
come to him on his knees. This amazing being had crawled to him and begged him let him  
worship him....

Alexei felt his eyes burn and his breath caught in his chest for a quick moment. He needed no  
more than this to know they were meant to be together--they had a destiny, a shared destiny. All  
the world would someday tremble at their feet. He knew it in his heart. The two of them would cut  
a swath through all creation.

If he willed it--the land would sprout bones and dust and the sky would rain blood-and his boy  
would make it so. For him. If he willed it, the land would nourish millions and all he had to do was  
tell his boy to make it so, and he would, for him. They would be like gods...

They would be the beginning and end of all legends.

Suddenly Kirill focused all his attention on Alexei, and reached out and touched him, touched his  
instantly hard cock--was on him and holding him as Alexei had an earth-shattering, spine  
bending orgasm.

"All yours." Kirill whispered and let the spunk flow over him, wiping tracks in the gore. "All your,  
yours to command, all yours, yours to own..."

Alexei drifted into sleep, felt Kirill lift him and carry him to the bed. He sighed inside with  
satisfaction. He could sleep now, finally sleep. He was safe.

Sleep let go of Alexei reluctantly--but eventually it loosed its hold and he came back to Kirill and  
decisions that needed to be made.

He nibbled at the bread and fruit that Ivan had brought them and sipped at the tea he'd so  
thoughtfully prepared. Kirill watched him stalk about the room naked, nipping at an apple and  
completely, deeply in thought. It made him smile and he petted Ivan for being so clever as to  
bring Alexei food and to have gotten rid of the mess in the corner. He kissed Ivan's cheek and  
stroked his arms, and bit gently at him, leaving little red tracks all over him. He sniffed at his skin  
and enjoyed his smell on Ivan's skin and Ivan stretched under his caresses like a cat. He looked  
at Kirill through narrowed eyes, smiled and Kirill pushed his hardening cock against him, rubbed  
lazily against his belly. Ivan gasped and reached for Kirill, cupping his hand around the head and  
pressing it against him. Kirill kissed him and pushed him away, ignoring his sound of  
disappointment.

"Vanya, pet--look, Alexei needs to have the juice cleaned from his hands, help him."

Ivan moved quickly to Alexei and knelt in front of him.

"Hmm?" Alexei acknowledged him distractedly, and let Ivan take his hand and started when his  
warm wet tongue laved his sticky fingers.

His attention was captured, he watched with increasing arousal as Ivan cleaned him with his  
tongue and his breath hitched in his throat--Ivan's position on his knees excited him, his desire to  
serve him made his cock swell. He stroked it across Ivan's lips and held Ivan's head, wrapped his  
hand in his hair and pulled tightly on the golden strands as Ivan eagerly took his cock up into his  
mouth and worked him fervently until he came with a groan.

"Ah, Kirill," he breathed, "Your little Vanya must come with us. He's really very talented. And so  
eager to serve." He gasped softly as Ivan swallowed his release.

Kirill was pleased. He wanted to keep Ivan. He needed someone to look after, like Alexei looked  
after him. He needed someone whose very breath depended on whether he would allow it. He  
was very proud of his pet. Alexei patted Ivan before gently moving him aside and stalked about  
the room again, muttering to himself while Ivan started a fire in the brightly painted ceramic stove.  
As soon as the flame was burning steadily, he ran back to the bed, he curled around Kirill for  
warmth, pushing nearly under him and Kirill thought if he could have purred, he would.

Alexei meanwhile shrugged on his gray wool coat and his bare feet padded back and forth over  
the floor--he shoved the rug away from the center of the room and walked the floor again, head  
tilted to the side, the picture of concentration and then--- a smile bloomed on his lips and his eyes  
narrowed in satisfaction. He dropped lightly to his knees and pulled his knife from his coat pocket,  
opened it and levered the blade between the false floorboards he'd found. They popped up to  
reveal a safe hidden beneath the wood. Alexei laughed quietly when he saw the safe was made  
of lead.

"What a fool. Though I suppose I should thank him for making our journey a little easier. Come  
love, open this for me."

Kirill came to him and pulled the heavy box out of the floor with ease and broke the lock off with  
no more trouble than if it'd been made of straw instead of iron. He put the warm twist of metal in  
Alexei's hand and they smiled at one another.

Alexei bent and rifled the contents of the box. There was money--so much more than Alexei had  
expected. "Good. We'll travel in style."

He saw that Boris had kept a journal--there were several in fact and as Alexei flipped through  
them, he saw that Boris had kept track of his supposed nephew's development. *A scientific  
bent*, Alexei mused. _Can't fault him for that_ , In fact, it hurt Alexei--what he was about to do. He  
set the books to the side and pulled out papers that outlined everyone's role in the assassination  
of Rasputin, in an envelope marked 'In the event of my death'. He laughed. Boris' problem was  
he thought everyone was stupid save himself. He shook his head.

The man was--had been, a self-centered idiot and a pig. But he did have points to recommend  
him. Alexei exhaled deeply, real regret colored his sigh as he drew his fingers down the tooled  
leather spines of the journals sadly, lingeringly--so much information about to be lost, but all to  
the best, it was safer to leave no sign of Kirill here, no hint, no record of the extraordinary being  
whose power Boris was too stupid to know how to wield.

One last caress, and he knelt at the stove and slowly began to feed the journal page by page into  
the fire, along with the rest of Boris' papers. It was better this way, he told himself. *This is the  
best way to protect my boy*. He looked to the bed and smiled at Kirill, who watched him with a  
bright curiosity, and his heart warmed. This _was_ the only decision., the right decision.

All through the long morning, as Kirill bathed and Ivan packed what few belongings Alexei  
allowed them, he weighed options, and finally he realized he'd known what to do in this situation  
long ago. They needed to be somewhere young and brave, somewhere where the bold individual  
was respected, a place full of fresh blood and fresh ideas.  
Somewhere his little family could have a home of their own. Alexei smiled, content now that he  
knew where they were going.

* * *

The air was crisp--so sharp and cold it was nearly painful to breathe in. The snow held a wash of  
pink from the dying sun, and the forest beyond the property scratched it's long black fingers black  
against the gold and rose sky. Kirill turned in a circle, watched the sun deepen from golden to  
scarlet and the shadows stretch longer and longer across the snow. It crunched and creaked  
beneath his feet as he turned in a wide circle and took in--the forest, the dacha, the yard, the  
stables, the cottages--all of his world for so long, and now he was leaving it truly for the last time.  
Boris Mikhailov Voronkov fed the crows and foxes in the forest and that was good. He'd done  
what he'd promised himself as a boy...and it was more gratifying then he could have ever  
imagined.

His Alexei stood next to him, impassive and distant, his mind on the future and utterly  
uninterested in the past. Kirill's heart swelled and he reached out a hand to lay on his arm. Alexei  
smiled at him and patted him briefly--gone again into thought, and Kirill knew at this moment,  
Alexei was probably happier than he'd ever been in his life. Ivan, on the other hand-- he looked  
nervous, poor thing. The boy had never been further than the village his whole life and now his  
world was about to change forever. He smiled at Ivan. He was sure he'd find ways to keep Ivan's  
mind occupied. He would insure that Vanya never missed this place--he would come to know his  
place was anywhere Kirill was, from boyhood to manhood Ivan had known him and now he'd  
always be his alone. He slid his finger into the thin leather collar Ivan wore tucked beneath the  
fabric collar of his embroidered shirt and drank in his barely audible moan. His own dear little  
Vanya, who bled so prettily and groaned so sweetly.

Alexei rolled the cigar he'd been smoking between his fingers, and looked at the glowing end. He  
frowned at the dacha and cut his eyes to Kirill.

"You can burn it?" he asked. Kirill nodded, and Ivan gasped--

"What about the people, all those who live here?"

Alexei nodded, looked down on the snow and Kirill watched his face, transfixed by the beauty of  
his eyes, hooded in thought, the beauty of his mouth as his lips bowed in a small smile, the  
graceful curve of his neck - so deeply was he moved by Alexei's beauty that when he spoke his  
voice startled Kirill out of his reverie.

"What about the people, Ivan," he said thoughtfully. "What about the people, indeed?" He raised  
his head and looked out to the forest, now black, impenetrable and eerie against the purple  
evening sky.

"I suggest the people pray. With fervor." he moved to take the reigns of the horses Ivan held for  
them and mounted his horse in one fluid movement. He held his hand out to Kirill, who moved  
into it and laid his head against the palm and waited as Alexei carded his fingers through his  
hair....

"Burn it, my infant, burn all of it."

Kirill looked one more time at his childhood home and his laughter was as clear and bell-like as  
that of a delighted child as he transformed the dacha into an inferno, his eyes sent flames  
chewing and leaping from the peak of the roofs to wash the wooden walls with fire, he watched  
with joy as it become a torch--the horses burst screaming from the open doors of the stables as  
it too lit up the night sky, flames danced over everything everywhere and Alexei's face was aglow  
with reflection from the fire and the fire he carried within himself.

Ivan and he mounted their horses also and Kirill spat in the direction of the roaring hell that was  
his uncle's dacha They rode away from it, and screams tore the night sky and looking over his  
shoulder Kirill saw the servants dashing this way and that as it burned. Ivan kept his gaze trained  
straight ahead and never turned back once.

Alexei moved his gloved hand over Kirill's face. Kirill could feel the heat and strength in it, he  
enjoyed the play of muscle under the leather as it cupped his chin and Alexei stroked a thumb  
over his lip, he darted the tip of his tongue out to the leather and scented his hand, as always the  
smell of Alexei sent warmth blooming in his body, stiffening him and making him grateful and joyous  
to be claimed.

"We're going to have amazing adventures, little one," Alexei whispered. "Are you sorry to leave  
here?"

Kirill laughed, "Oh, my god, no! How can I be sorry when my real life is about to begin?"

* * *

It was cold--not as cold as Siberia could be when one wore the bare minimum for survival, not as  
cold as it could be when one had not enough food to keep body and soul together--Alexei knew it  
would never be that cold again--but the wind was strong enough to yank and pull at their  
clothing, and splash their cheeks with red. Alexei's hand wrapped around the rail was raw from  
the wind, but he had a good pair of lined leather gloves in his pocket, the cigar caught in his  
fingers was excellent, and they weren't lined up cheek to scruffy jowl like the other immigrants--  
no, Mr. Alexis Rousseau had a suite of his own, his cousin and his brother had their own suite  
also and no one said a word if the bed seemed unused in that suite. It was a truism throughout  
the world; money speaks in a very loud voice and everyone listened.

Kirill--or as Alexei drummed into his head, Carel-- laughed into the wind, his white teeth bared in  
a mock growl. His hands carefully gripped the rail and he leaned back, his head tilted to the sun,  
drinking in its rays. Ivan was caged between his arms, leaning back against his broad warm chest  
and watching avidly as the statue slowly appeared on the horizon. The woman in the harbor  
might be a fearsome example of kitsch on a massive scale, Alexei thought, but it made Ivan's  
eyes gleam and Kirill beamed himself and it was enough to make him content--for the moment.

Alexei looked over at his family, Kirill, his hair blown by the wind, his cheeks as red as his lips and  
he was laughing, laughing...Alexei warmed as his dream of Kirill and freedom became reality,  
little Vanya snuggled against him made the reality that much sweeter. Kirill bent forward and bit  
gently at Vanya's chin and neck and Alexei smiled widely.

He pulled the wolf fur collar up of his coat about his neck, turned his face out to the open water  
and pulled deeply at his cigar, blew a thick plume of fragrant smoke into the sky. The New World,  
yes--a new life, a new beginning for all of them--a world to conquer--a world to rule.

Fin  
12-27-04

* * *

  



End file.
